


Fictional Thinking

by clarelyobvious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mystery, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 115,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarelyobvious/pseuds/clarelyobvious
Summary: Post-war.  Severus Snape lives.Harry Potter survived the war but lives with the consequences.  Severus Snape feels the same.  When they meet in Muggle London, what will become of their tumultuous past?





	1. Chapter 1: New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.

_This was a mistake._

Harry gripped his beer bottle tightly as he surveyed the chaos around him.

_This was definitely a mistake._

What on God’s green earth had let Hermione convince him that coming to a Muggle Gay bar was the best thing he could do with his Friday night? Sighing inwardly, Harry took a sip of his beer and grimaced.

Urgh. Even the alcohol was terrible. He squinted at the label against the flashing strobe lights. American, of course…

Sighing out loud this time, Harry thought back to the conversation (if you could call a one-sided talking to from Hermione a conversation) that had led him to Fabric.

“You really should get back out there, Harry! You’re doing so much better now and… and I think meeting someone new would be good for you. Fabric – Ron, please stop Rosie from doing that? – is meant to be fabulous! My cousin and his partner, Steven – have I told you about Steven? He’s a dental hygienist, you know, which is how they met. Anyway, they say it’s the best new place to meet, well, you know, other men, in town. Apparently, it’s built inside an old rug factory that was operational during the Muggle Industrial Revolution-“

In the end, Harry had agreed to go merely to stop Hermione regaling him with all the facts about the 19th century factory cum trendy gay nightclub. He took another absentminded sip of beer.

_This was worse than a mistake. This was a disaster._

The music – a throbbing dance mix of some hit song from the Muggle Top 40 – was not really to Harry’s usual, Grunge and Classic Rock taste. The thumping bass line reverberated through him, making his bones vibrate and his organs squirm in sympathy. The lights were a blinding visual assault of strobe and lasers, which, he was sure, would be the precipitant of at least one drug-induced seizure tonight. But the worst thing, the utter epitome of the crapness of the night, was the people.

First of all, there were too many of them. Harry could feel the rising, claustrophobic panic of being crammed into this hellhole of a nightery. He hadn’t been expecting it to be this busy and certainly wasn’t used to the crowds after the last few months of relative solitude.

He shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, to ward off the looming haze of less than optimal thoughts from taking hold of his brain.

Secondly, they were all so… young. He snorted, lifting his beer to his lips before thinking better of it. He supposed his 21 – almost 22 – years didn’t exactly make him an old fogey but watching the other men interact – inebriated, inexhaustible – he couldn’t relate. It all seemed so… innocent.

‘Well, maybe innocent was a stretch,’ Harry thought, blushing and turning away from the intimate writhing of a couple right in the middle of the bottom-lit dance floor. They certainly didn’t teach that kind of dancing for the Yule Ball!

Which brought him to point number three. Even if he managed to work up the nerve to talk to – or shout at, he supposed (‘Merlin this music is loud!’) – someone, if they actually enjoyed being here the most Harry was going to get was a short shag and an awkward walk home in the morning. And he was in no way ready for that.

He was in no way ready for the pinch on the bum he did receive, either!

Harry jumped and spun, automatically reaching for his wand before he remembered it was a Muggle place – a gay muggle place - so most of the wizards he might expect to attack him would most definitely not be seen there. He had moved so quickly a little of the frightful swill the club sold as beer sloshed out the bottle and onto his would-be assailant’s silk (by the looks of it) shirt.

“Woah! What the fuck? This shirt cost me a hundred quid!”

“S-sorry!” Harry stammered. “I’m really sorry, it was an accident.”

Then he remembered this guy had basically sexually assaulted him. Before he could work up the ire to remind the other man of this, the soppy silk-clad sod had started on him. By the look on his face, the man was about to fling Harry into the glass behind the bar but Harry couldn’t make out every thing was saying.

“JUST TRYING…. FRIENDLY! DON’T HAVE… FUCKING…. PAY FOR… BLOODY HELL!”

Harry sighed and set his still three quarter-full beer down on the bar before turning to the door and walking away from the raging torrent of abuse.

Strike ‘disaster’. This is a fucking catastrophe.

 

Outside the club, music still pounding in the background, Harry leaned against the wall and finally breathed a sigh of relief rather than resignation. Hermione was definitely going to hear about this. Harry wondered exactly what kind of masochists her cousin and his well-dentured companion were to actually enjoy the pulsing, writhing squash of sweaty bodies and deafening electro-house racket.

He pushed himself off the wall and moved off, concentrating on fastening his black dragonhide jacket. He fiddled with the catch of the zip as he walked and promptly collided with something rather tall and solid, sending him sprawling to the pavement and knocking his glasses askew.

He grumbled and then the something solid spoke.

“Potter.”

Harry’s head snapped up at the deep, mellifluous voice of his ex-Potion’s Master. He had to be hallucinating, a thought that sent a streak of panic through him.

The sight of Severus Snape standing in front of him in a street in the heart of Muggle London did nothing to relieve his anxiety. He did, however, note the brief flicker of surprise that crossed the older man’s face. It was oddly pleading to him to have caught the ex-spy off guard.

“Professor?!” Harry spluttered. “What… how… are you real? What are you doing here?”

An elegant eyebrow rose up towards Snape’s hairline giving him an expression that took Harry right back to his days in the dungeon classroom. Harry gulped.

“I can assure you that I am quite thoroughly corporeal, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled smoothly. “As to my presence in the current vicinity, I am merely, as you say, passing through and not aiming to frequent the local, uh, scenery.” Snape ran his eyes over the façade of Fabric.

Harry flushed with irritation and embarrassment as he stood up and brushed himself off. Snape must have seen him coming out of the club. Brilliant; exactly what he wanted. Snape continued before Harry could reply.

“I must say, I am intrigued and surprised, Potter. I did not think you someone to patronize such an establishment,” Snape gestured vaguely towards the doors of Fabric, where a young couple was attempting to enter but were being blocked by another pair who seemed determined to consume one another whole.

“What,” Harry inquired in a slightly incredulous tone. “Muggle?”

Snape looked at him querulously and the eyebrow rose every higher on the pale brow, making Harry think this was how Neville must have felt in every potions lesson.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, finally understanding. “You mean it’s a gay club!”

That Snape was surprised at this amazed Harry even more than when he thought the man had forgotten Harry’s connections to the Muggle world. The news of Harry’s sexual preferences on the back of his rather spectacularly public break-up with Ginny Weasley a few years ago had been spread all over the Wizarding press. The Daily Prophet had run a full front-page article with a headline proclaiming, ‘The Boy Who Lived to Love Boys?’ along with a two page middle fold of his apparent previous female conquests from Hermione (not true) to, of all people, Minerva McGonagall (most definitely not true). Harry struggled to suppress a shudder at the recollection.

The Wizarding world in general was not wholly supportive of same-sex relationships but generally let Wizards live and let live as long as they were discreet. That Harry was photographed in an intoxicated clinch with a rather dashing Muggle boy unfortunately near to the Leaky Cauldron had caused no small amount of anguish and heartbreak. Harry had received no small number of angry and disappointed letters and Howlers over the initial months declaring him to be a deviant and shaming him for his lifestyle ‘choice’. More than one letter called on him to be a decent role model ‘for the children’.

He tried to remind himself that he had also received a few missives of support and good wishes as well, lest he dive back into the despair that had begun to consume him at the time.

Harry shrugged and gave Snape a wary, self-deprecating smile. “I thought everyone knew - Daily Prophet’s expose and all. Witch Weekly wrote a rather damning editorial and the Agony Aunt column was flooded with despairing teen witches for weeks.”

“I do not wish to fill my brain with the drivel the press prints these days. I do not read the papers.”

Ah.

“And certainly not Witch Weekly’s Agony Aunt column,” Snape added with a smirk.

“Well, that drivel happened to be true…” Harry lowered his eyes. “If a little prejudiced in the reporting style.”

He felt strangely numb. After the final Battle for Hogwarts, Harry had only seen Snape a handful of times and only once up close, when he had returned the phial of memories to him in the Hospital Wing along with his deepest thanks and respect. Snape had been semi-conscious and in a great deal of pain at the time, but had gripped Harry’s hand tightly before letting go and they had separated. He knew Snape had little enough affinity for him but he didn’t want this man to be even more disinclined towards him, and Harry held little hope that Snape would ‘hold with’ his sexual inclination. In truth, he admired the man he now thought of as the bravest he’d ever known.

What Snape said next shook him to his core.

“Well, I cannot recommend this particular establishment but there are other, more palatable places I could suggest for meeting like-minded individuals.”

Harry’s head snapped up so fast he was sure his neck cracked.

“Huh?”

“Eloquent, as ever I see, Potter,” Snape intoned, looking… Merlin, Snape was amused! “I was merely suggesting that if this excuse for a social gathering was not to your taste that I could show you to somewhere which might suit you better.”

Harry stared. And kept staring. Was Snape asking him on a date? Noooo…

He must have vocalized this thought as Snape sighed and gave him a rather despairing look. “No, Mr. Potter, I am not asking you on a ‘date’. I am, however, familiar with some more suitable evening venues for people so inclined.”

“But,” he whispered, confused and frowning, “my mother?”

Snape sobered and released a beleaguered sigh. He looked Harry straight in the eye as he spoke.

“I loved your mother very much. And I must live with my mistakes and the loss of her friendship for the rest of my sorry existence,” he swallowed thickly before continuing. “But if I have learned anything it is something a wise friend once shared with me – ‘it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live’. I am also rather more… worldly than most would believe.”

Oh, Harry thought.

“Oh.”

His mouth had gone rather dry as he looked into the obsidian eyes of this man; his mother’s best friend; his father’s worst enemy. His mentor-cum-puppeteer’s… well; the byproduct of another complicated relationship of Dumbledore’s.

Snape pursed his lips.

“Indeed.”

“Well,” Harry breathed. “Guess we have something in common at last.”

Snape seemed to relax at this. At least, his shoulders lowered and his lips had settled back into the thin, dispassionate line Harry was accustomed to from witnessing Snape’s interactions with those he tolerated. Is that was he was? Someone Snape now tolerated?

“I am sure, Potter, that this is not the first thing we’ve had a mutual understanding of,” he intoned. A light, almost twinkling, spark had entered his eyes and Harry smiled at him; a genuine, relaxed smile. Harry’s first of a long time. He almost missed what Snape said next.

“So, am I to be burdened with your presence tonight, Potter, or not?”

Harry frowned, thinking back on their (rather odd) conversation so far.

“Pardon?”

Snape gave him an exasperated glare and sighed dramatically. “The pub, Potter. I offered to show you to a more suitable drinking establishment than this sorry excuse for a nightclub. Honestly, Potter, the beer is terrible here.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.

“Really? You’re properly asking me to go for a drink with you?”

“No,” Snape snapped, a little quickly, and his eyes narrowed. “I’m leading you to an ugly death, Potter. For Merlin’s sake, I am simply on my way to a decent bar after meeting a friend and as it is astonishingly early for one as young as you to retire I was going to give you the benefit of my superior knowledge and experience in picking a proper drinking establishment.”

Harry stared. Again. He was doing that a lot tonight. Giving Snape a searching look, Harry decided that he wasn’t getting a better offer anyway. And this was actually a fairly attractive offer.

“Lead the way, Professor,” he answered, gesturing for Snape to do just so. “But I think just about anything would be better than the shite this place markets as beer.”

Maybe this is ok.

The lager was infinitely better – an Italian brew he’d let Snape choose – and the music was a low volume Classic rock mix that Harry much preferred. The seats were comfy and the people kept themselves to themselves.

Overall, Harry had to admit that the Crossed Staffs Bar was a nice place, much more suited to his tastes. And the company…

“Do stop staring, Mr. Potter. It is rather distasteful in polite company.”

The company was interesting.

Harry flushed, lowered his eyes, and took a hasty sip of his pint. He coughed as it went down the wrong way and his face genuinely felt like it was about to catch fire with embarrassment.

A strong, long-fingered hand slapped him on the back and his throat cleared but his cheeks flared even more.

“Please do stop making a scene, Potter,” said Snape, though his hand still rested between Harry’s shoulder blades. “You’re attracting the attention of the Muggles. Don’t you have enough fans amongst Wizards and Witches?”

Harry looked around the bar – no one was looking in their direction at all. He snorted, wiped his mouth with a napkin, pocketed a spare, and took a more controlled drink before speaking.

“My ‘Golden Boy’ image is more than a little tarnished nowadays. Besides,” he shrugged, “I was just in wondering at the fact that Severus Snape has taken me out for a drink.”

“Let you tag along, Potter,” Snape said sharply.

“Harry.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call me Harry,” Harry lowered his eyes and smiled through his lashes at Snape. “If I can buy you a pint, you can call me ‘Harry’.”

Snape gave him an appraising look as he took a graceful draught from his own pint. How could the man be so bloody smooth at everything?

“Harry, then,” he finally conceded.

Harry gave him an expectant look over the rim of his glasses. Snape gave him the pursed lip frown again.

“Very well,” he huffed, “you may call me ‘Severus’, I suppose. Insolent brat.”

Harry smiled into his pint glass as he drank. Trust Snape to make a fuss over his name.

“Thank you,” he smirked, “Severus.”

Snape glared at him silently.

They sat quietly for a moment, simply enjoying the atmosphere and the high quality alcohol before Harry broke the silence.

“How was your friend?”

Snape eyed him with a wary look before answering.

“Well. Why do you ask?”

Harry lowered his gaze and picked at the edge of a beer mat. He shrugged, trying to be casual. If he were being honest with himself, Harry would have to admit to a pang of jealousy towards this unknown person who could call himself or herself a friend of Severus Snape. The man was fascinating – something Harry would never have admitted to in his formative years – and after the events of the Shrieking Shack, Harry had been itching to know more about him. He’d put it down to the connection with his mother. Harry had heard so much about James but so little about Lily and any information about her was precious commodity.

But now he had to wonder if it was the man himself that sparked such curiosity within him. Meeting Snape again had lit a fire in his belly that had been missing for a long time; longer than he cared to admit.

“Just wondering,” he murmured and took a long, steading drink. “Mostly why they didn’t come with you if you were going out. It’s silly but I couldn’t… wouldn’t let myself imagine you had actual friends, I suppose. Childish idea.”

He was ashamed of this. He had been so young during most of his association with Snape and had been sucked into the delusion that teachers didn’t have lives out-with their profession. He knew this was immature and no one, especially Snape, was defined by the job they did but it was still strange to think of his professors away from Hogwarts or the Order.

Harry gave Snape a sidelong glance. He looked good. Better by far than he had the last time Harry had seen him up close, in the hospital wing, which was more than Harry could say for himself. Snape had put on a little weight but it was to his benefit – his face was thin but not gaunt and his shoulders were broad. From the brief collision he’d had earlier, Harry could tell Snape was hard and lithe. His hair was still long and lank and his hooked nose would never change but the extra flesh on his pale face detracted from it somewhat. He looked happy. He looked free.

Harry, by contrast, knew he looked terrible when compared to his former self. He had lost too much weight and sleep over the last few years to consider himself attractive. But he was working on both of those things. He was too short and skinny with too-large eyes and too delicate features to be considered handsome, he thought. More of his mother had come out in him as he matured, balancing the eerie similarity to James a little.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts to find Snape watching him; appraising him. He didn’t look angry but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured and took a long swig of his pint, keeping his eyes lowered to the table. He took a deep breath and continued quickly, “I’m sorry for a lot of things actually and I haven’t really apologized properly for any of it. I’m sorry I was so blind to your bravery and selflessness at school. I’m sorry for my dad. I’m sorry for blaming you for Sirius. That was… complicated. I’m sorry for… well, sorry.”

This is heading back towards disaster territory…

“It is not an uncommonly held view. And not far from the truth,” Snape acceded with something that verged surprisingly close to understanding. Which was bizarre coming from Snape. “And you were a child. I was not blameless with regards to our strained relationship.”

An awkward silence fell across the table and Harry was just about considering thanking Snape for the drink and leaving when he was asked the question he dreaded answering every time he met with someone he’d not seen in a while.

“So, what is Harry Potter actually doing with himself now that the war is over?”

Great. Just brilliant.

Harry couldn’t stop the sigh and then the tightening of his jaw. He hated this question because the answer was nothing. Zip; nada; diddlysquat. There were plants in the Hogwarts greenhouses that did more than him. If Snape had read the Prophet he wouldn’t have missed the regular bemoaning of their Saviour’s shiftlessness as well as his deviancy.

A few years ago, before… well, before everything, and just after the war, when the dust was settling, everyone thought he’d become an Auror, and he still thought he could make it work with Ginny Weasley, he’d spent most of his waking hours being dragged from press events to Ministry committee meetings to Death Eater trials to Weasley gatherings and trying to find a minute to help out Minerva McGonagall rebuild Hogwarts. In between these times he was helping to hunt down the last remaining Death Eaters. The hours he should have been sleeping were unremittingly interrupted by nightmares and crushing panic in the darkness. A breaking point was inevitable.

The end result was still affecting him, although less so recently, and getting a job would be very difficult if Harry wanted to keep the events of the last few years quiet. Harry didn’t want to dwell on it tonight. But he didn’t want to remind Snape that for so long he’d thought of Harry as the feckless, unworthy son of the man who had bullied him Snape so mercilessly. So he prepared to tell the half-truth he told everyone else.

“You know,” he said, picking up a beer mat and fidgeting with the edges, “supporting the regeneration a bit. Charity work. I help out Hermione with childcare as well. Got shares in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. No real long term commitments currently.”

When he looked at Snape in his peripheral vision, he saw the same appraising look from a few minutes ago and felt an instant stab of shame. He obviously knew Harry wasn’t telling him the whole truth. But Snape didn’t push and Harry felt eternally grateful to the man for that.

“What about you?” He asked, still fiddling with the mat. “I know you’re not back at Hogwarts.”

Snape snorted and his lips curled into a bitter smile. “Hardly. Minerva McGonagall is a force to be reckoned with but she cannot overturn the opinions of the board of governors nor of the witless Minister for Magic. They did not feel having a former Death Eater on the staff was conducive to the learning of the little brats,” he ground out. “Nor the reputation of the school, I imagine. I am not longer allowed to teach.”

Harry gaped at him, dropping the now shredded beer mat. “But you’re a hero! You got an Order of Merlin for, well, for Merlin’s sake!”

Harry had testified for Snape at his trial and had spent countless hours ensuring he’d been included in the war honours, knowing Snape had a not insubstantial group of objectors and critics. That, despite Harry’s testimony – including Harry’s own memories freely displayed via a Pensieve – and the man’s considerable power and skill, Snape would be shut out from the place that had been his home for 17 years was repugnant to Harry.

And Snape wasn’t exactly a rich man, a small voice piped up in the back of Harry’s mind. The Order of Merlin would have provided a small monetary reward but hardly enough to live on.

“Thank you for your support, Potter,” Snape snarled, “but forgive me if I find your outlook to be beyond naïve.”

“I just…” Harry shook his head and then looked Snape in the eye. “You don’t deserve that kind of prejudice. If it weren’t for you-“

“I shall not play that game, Potter. I do not wish to go over all the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’. I am not blind to my mistakes and I will not have you being blind to them, either.”

Well, that was that. Harry still felt a throb of injustice just behind his breastbone and rubbed at it absentmindedly.

“However,” Snape conceded, “I am not entirely unhappy not to be responsible for trying to teach the brainless youth of today an art they are too half-witted to appreciate. I imagine them to be even more tiresome than your lot. You, at least, kept things from straying into the realm of comfortable living.”

Harry giggled. This was the Snape he remembered.

“I have a regular contract with Minerva to supply the Hospital Wing with its more complex potions – all under the table, mind you, damnable Ministry – and I have a small Owl Order business. That was where I was tonight; delivering one of my more volatile creations which would have caused rather a mess if entrusted to a fowl messenger,” Snape continued. “So I suppose ‘friend’ was a rather strong descriptor.”

“Good,” Harry affirmed with a nod and cheeky smirk. “We wouldn’t want you getting idle in your advancing years.”

“You are fortunate that I cannot give you detention anymore, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Harry, then.”

Harry smiled down at the table as he felt his chest ease up slightly. If Snape was okay with his life it didn’t seem as crushing to Harry’s sense of justice – yes, justice. That was all it was.

He noticed that their pints were empty, not really wanting the night to end, and gestured to the bar.

“My round?”

Definitely not a disaster, Harry thought happily as Snape nodded his assent.

 

After what was likely a few too many beers and a disgruntled reminder that it was closing time from the barman in the form of an upside down chair being pushed onto the table, Harry and Snape stepped out into the cool night air of Muggle London.

It was a shame, Harry thought, dizzily, that the city lights prevented them from seeing the stars. He took a deep, refreshing breath and turned to find Snape watching him intently. Had he spoken out loud again?

Must stop doing that.

“So, uh, thanks,” Harry stammered. “I actually had a really good time.”

They had passed the evening with discussion of Severus’ business and some of the new potions developments in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes as well as general discussion on the state of politics in general. For someone who didn’t read the news, Snape was exceedingly well informed. Harry had talked on Luna’s ongoing commitment to the Quibbler and Ron and Hermione’s growing family. Snape had listened with surprising patience. And Harry had spent a fair amount of time looking at the older man through new eyes. Oh, and his voice…

Oh yes, he was becoming quite smitten.

Oh, hell. What?!

Snape nodded, “I agree that the evening was not intolerable.”

Harry supposed that was as close to Snape admitting to having fun he was going to get. Whether it was the alcohol or latent Gryffindor courage that made him speak next, Harry would never know.

“Fancy doing it again sometime? Maybe with dinner?”

Again, what?!

This appeared to startle Snape who jerked slightly and frowned.

“I mean that was a silly idea, sorry. Of course it was. You wouldn’t want to-“

“Okay.”

What.

“What?”

“I agreed to see you again for dinner and drinks, Potter, do keep up.”

Harry blinked. “Oh, great! Brilliant!” He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over his face. He reached into his pocket for a pen and the spare napkin he had picked up. “Yeah, well, here’s my Floo address,” he said quickly and scribbled his address on the napkin before Snape could take it back. “I’ll, um, I’ll owl you in a couple of days, yeah?”

Snape seemed amused by his enthusiasm as he took the proffered napkin and Harry felt his cheeks heat up.

“Well, thanks again!” Harry smiled brilliantly, grinning in a way that probably made him look slightly unhinged.

He didn’t even look to see the other man’s expression before turning away and jogging down the street to a safe Apparition point.

‘Fucking hell, what the fuck was that?’ he thought as he disappeared with a small pop.


	2. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry recovers from his night out and Severus gets an a couple of interesting owls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
> On another note, I have messed with the post-war timeline a bit to make the character of Rose Weasley available. I am otherwise trying to keep things close enough but really, EWE? 
> 
> A second note: this chapter was surprisingly hard to write and I'm not sure I'm totally happy with it or will ever be. I think it's because it is mostly information and reframing old relationships. Hope it goes down okay!
> 
> Reviews are loved and I'm very grateful for them.

Harry knocked on the familiar door with a small amount of trepidation. He was standing on the steps to Ron and Hermione’s small semi-detached house the day after Hermione had sent him out to Fabric, a gay nightclub, in order to ‘meet someone’.

 

Hermione could read him like a book and, boy, did he have a story he’d rather not tell right now. Harry had spent the day between nursing a slight hangover – certainly not one to bother taking a Hangover remedy for straight away– and agonising over her behaviour and meeting with Severus Snape. In a rather bizarre turn of events, they had spent a fairly enjoyable evening together and Snape had, surprisingly, agreed to a repeat run with the addition of dinner.

 

For Harry, who had admired Snape from afar, for his courage and power, and had rued their turbulent relationship for many years now, this was a highly positive but bewildering outcome.

 

He could only imagine what Snape was thinking.  

 

Before he could dive too deep into his confusing reminiscence, the door opened to reveal a harassed and harried-looking Hermione Granger with a redheaded toddler perched on her hip.

 

“Harry! Thank God!”

 

Harry laughed and reached out to relieve his friend of her burden. “That bad?” he asked, as he settled a one-year-old Rose Weasley onto his own hip and entered the house.

 

Ron and Hermione’s home was a warm guddle of Magic and Muggle furniture and artefacts and Harry loved it for that. It was small but radiated the love and care that had been put into making the house a home.

 

Harry followed Hermione into the kitchen where she set the kettle to boil with her wand as she recalled to him the events of the day. Maternity leave wasn’t really suiting her it seemed.

 

“God, Harry, I love her but I can’t wait to get back to work at the Department!” She exclaimed and huffed. Hermione loved her job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Harry knew she must have been itching to get back, even if Rose wasn’t giving her grief.

 

“I swear, I’ll not even complain about dealing with the ignorant bigots against the new werewolf proposals! She threw her lunch onto the ceiling and whilst I was cleaning it up she must have levitated out of her highchair because I found her on top of the fridge! Then, after her nap, she somehow swapped all of her clothes for the baby’s next door! I spent half an hour apologising and trying to come up with an explanation! They’re Muggle, for Merlin’s sake!”

 

Hermione flopped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “I swear, Molly never told me raising a Weasley would be this much trouble!”

 

Harry couldn’t contain his laughter. Hermione glared.

 

“I’m so sorry, Hermione! What did you expect after knowing the twins? At least you know she’s Magical!”

 

“Yes, but at the cost of my sanity?” Hermione ran a hand over her tired face and Harry gave her a sympathetic smile as he bounced a gurgling Rose on his knee.

 

“She’s so calm for you, too. You never see her at her most terrorising,” Hermione bemoaned.

 

“It’s because I’m her favourite uncle, isn’t it Rosie? _You_ wouldn’t send your poor Uncle Harry out to a godforsaken hellhole of a nightclub, would you? Eh?” He kissed Rose’s curly head and then blew a raspberry on her cheek causing her to giggle uproariously.

 

Hermione had the good grace to cringe. “Was it awful, Harry?”

 

“Someone pinched my bum, Hermione,” he scowled at her as she laughed. “And the beer was dreadful. I won’t mention the music. Honestly, Hermione, I’m never trusting your cousin’s opinion again, no matter how desperate I am for insight into gay culture.”

 

Hermione sent him an apologetic smile just as the kettle whistled to a boil. As she prepared their tea, Harry busied himself with entertaining a hyper Rosie Weasley and trying to conceal all signs of positive outcome from the evening. It would do Hermione good to stew in her guilt. And Harry wasn’t quite ready to reveal his dealings with Severus.

 

“Gary’s always been a bit different,” Hermione said over her shoulder. “I just thought Steven would be a good influence. I really thought it would be good for you to get out there again.”

 

She set the two mugs of tea on the table and sat down again, appearing grateful to have two hands with which to hold her drink. Harry continued to lavish Rose in attention in an attempt to distract Hermione from his obvious lack of real ire.

 

It didn’t work.

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she took a sip on tea and observed him.

 

“You’re hiding something.”

 

Harry looked up suddenly and pretended to be shocked, “No I’m not! What makes you say that?”

 

He quickly concentrated on making Rose happy again and tried to ignore Hermione’s calculating gaze. He failed and a blush spread across this cheeks and ears.

 

“Harry James Potter what are you not telling me?”

 

“When’s Ron due home? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date?”

 

Hermione set her tea mug onto the table with a definitive thump. Harry squirmed.

 

“You _did_ meet someone didn’t you?” Hermione crowed triumphantly.

 

Harry sighed in resignation. He’d have been a shite Auror if Hermione could deduce him so easily.

 

“Not in the club,” he said hurriedly, giving Hermione a resolved look. “So don’t be too jubilant. But, yeah, I met someone. We had… a nice time.” Harry couldn’t help smiling in remembrance of the evening, even if he thought he’d made a fool of himself in the end.

 

Hermione squealed. “Oh, Harry, that’s fantastic!” She clapped her hands to her mouth and reminded Harry disturbingly of Molly Weasley when Ron and Hermione had announced their engagement.

 

“Calm down, Hermione, we went for drinks – I’m not getting married to the guy!” Harry laughed, mostly at the idea of Severus Snape wanting to marry him, and moved Rose far enough away on his knee so he could take a sip of tea without the risk of spilling it. His hand was shaking.

 

“But you’re seeing him again.” Hermione inferred again and wasn’t asking a question. She really should have been an Auror for all her interviewing skills.

 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed and decided to give in. “Well,” he amended, “I asked him out again and he said yes. Not set anything official yet.”

 

“And why not?” Hermione demanded exasperatingly.

 

“Well, I kind of… ran away after he said yes,” Harry replied timidly, once again turning his attention to ensuring Rose was happy. He may have been acknowledged as the most powerful wizard of the age and as the Saviour of the Wizarding World but Hermione could still make him quake in his boots at times.

 

“Ran away?” Hermione huffed, clearly vexed at his behaviour. “Why on Earth would you run away?”

 

“Yeah,” he conceded. “What with my history and all, I’m hardly the catch of the century. And I didn’t want to give him a chance to take it back.”

 

Hermione watched him, sadly. “Oh, Harry,” was all she had a chance to say before the sound of the Floo flared from the living room, signalling Ron’s return home.

 

“Where are my two favourite girls?” Ron’s voice called out as he entered the kitchen. Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry knew that Ron said the same thing every time he came home from work at the Ministry. “And my best mate, apparently!” Ron said on spotting Harry as he entered the kitchen. He clapped Harry jovially on the shoulder before taking a seat and swiping Hermione’s tea from her.  

 

Harry good-naturedly passed Hermione his mostly untouched mug and greeted Ron with a friendly handshake.

 

“When you coming to the Burrow next, mate? Mum’s been pestering me to get you back over.”

 

Harry winced, guiltily. After the separation from Ginny and his subsequent, extremely public ‘outing’ to the Wizarding world, Harry had avoided going to the Weasley family home. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure Mrs Weasley would ever truly forgive him for breaking up with her only daughter. He was extremely glad when Ginny had started a new relationship which appeared to be a much more suitable match for her in Harry’s eyes.

 

“Yeah, sorry, Ron. Been busy.” This was a blatant lie so he continued, quickly, “I’ll pop over with Teddy next weekend?”

 

This seemed to satisfy Ron for now as he took another sip of tea

 

“What’s the what, then? Evil afoot?”

 

This was another tried and tired joke that Ron rolled out whenever he found Harry and Hermione conversing.

 

“The only evil that is afoot is that perpetuated by _your_ daughter,” Hermione groused.

 

“Oh, she’s mine now, eh? What’s she done?” Ron reached for Rose and Harry passed her over easily. He half-listened as Hermione relayed the events of the day to her husband but mostly rejoiced at the attention being diverted from his love life. Or lack thereof. Harry wasn’t really sure.

 

Before the discussion could escalate into an all out argument over Rose’s escapades, Harry intervened. “Hey, aren’t you two supposed to be going out tonight? Isn’t that why I’m here to entertain the infamous Miss Rosie?”

 

Ron gave him a grateful look whilst Hermione appeared to be mostly irritated. However, she stood and made her way upstairs, calling back to Ron that she’d be ten minutes. Ron gave him a doubtful look and in an appreciative manner handed him Rose again.

 

“Cheers, mate,” Ron breathed in a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver. Again.” He added with a cheeky grin.

 

“No worries,” Harry smiled. “You’ve got your hands full with Hermione and this one.”

 

Ron smiled and Harry felt a stab of jealousy at how content his friend looked. He dismissed the feeling quickly. Ron deserved all the happiness in the world. Harry could have had what Ron had right now if he’d stayed with Ginny. But it wouldn’t have been right; neither he nor Ginny could possibly have been truly happy. Instead, he concentrated on the tentative hope that had bloomed after his meeting with Severus and decided to feel pleased for his friend’s happiness.

 

Maybe, he thought, he’d feel like that one day.

 *****

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry became aware that Hermione would not be pleased by the furrow he was wearing into her rug but continued to pace back and forth the on carpet in front of the fireplace nonetheless. Crookshanks, Hermione’s flat-faced ginger tomcat, watched him lazily from the sofa.

 

Rose had been fed, entertained, and finally set into her crib and Harry could vaguely hear her soft, sleepy breathing from the monitoring spell he had cast. Now his brain was free to ruminate and chastise him properly for the first time since he’d gotten home in the early hours of the morning. When we had awoken from a doze at the embarrassingly late hour of 4pm, he’d barely had enough time to down a Hangover draught to rid himself the last of his headache, shower, and throw on a semi-clean set of clothes before heading to babysit Rose.

 

_What was I thinking? Asking him out?_

“I’ve lost my mind,” he muttered to no one. A soft whisper in his mind replied.

 

**_But he said ‘okay’ to seeing you again…_ **

_He was probably caught out. He won’t really meet me. He wasn’t all that interested. One night out together won’t change his attitude that much._

**_Nonsense. He wouldn’t have spent so much as a minute with you if he didn’t tolerate you at least._ **

****

Harry scowled at the voice in his head, which sounded oddly and disturbingly like Hermione now.

 

_Tolerating isn’t the same as wanting to be friends and definitely not wanting to be… something more._

**_Well, you can at least try. Or are you_ ** **afraid _?_**

****

Harry huffed and dropped grumpily onto the settee. Crookshanks meowed unhappily at him as the abrupt movement disrupted the cat’s comfy resting spot. He gave Harry a disparaging look and then settled down again, bushy tail flicking crossly.

“I’m not afraid,” he told the cat firmly. Crookshanks ignored him.

 

He sat, brooding, for a few minutes whilst staring into the fireplace. Scowling, he slapped both hands on his knees and stood again suddenly (Crookshanks growled) and made his way towards the study where Ron and Hermione kept their owls. They surely wouldn’t mind if he used one to send a letter!

 

Harry smiled at the two roosting birds sitting on a perch beside the window. Iris, a regal-looking long-eared owl gifted to the happy couple on their wedding day, hooted proudly in greeting and blinked her orange-ringed yellow eyes at him as Harry stroked her. Beside her, Pigwidgeon – now nearly a decade old – gave a sleepy hoot and kept his eyes closed. Ron frequently complained that Pig was becoming the next Errol and that he was getting too old to be of much use. It seemed the tiny owl was trying to be as contrary as possible and live as long as Errol had just to prove to Ron he could. Despite Ron’s grumbling, Harry knew his friend was very attached to the bird and would be devastated when the poor, old thing eventually passed away.

 

Harry hadn’t been able to bring himself to get another owl after Hedwig, whom he had loved as his first present and a dear friend. A sad smile formed on his face as he recalled, once again, Hagrid presenting him with the beautiful Snowy owl on his first trip to Diagon Alley. Instead, in order to avoid his sorrow, Harry tended to use Official Post Owls or borrow Iris if he needed to send a letter, though this was surprisingly rare these days. He normally just used the Floo to Firecall most of his friends. He supposed, slightly guiltily, he’d have to contact Hagrid at some point too.

 

“You up for a mission, Iris?”

 

The owl gave a hoot in the affirmative and puffed her feathers majestically. She truly was Hermione’s owl.

 

Harry sat at Hermione’s desk (Ron’s was buried under a stack of parchments and knick-knacks) and pulled some parchment and a self-filling quill towards him.

 

He paused, abruptly, the tip of the quill hovering above the blank page. Did he write ‘Dear Severus’? Or just ‘Severus’? Would Snape think him overly familiar or sentimental if he went with the former? Or rude and presumptuous if Harry chose the latter? Maybe he should just forgo any form of greeting and jump straight in?

 

_Fancy dinner and maybe a shag on Wednesday?_

Harry growled and threw the quill down on to the desk, inadvertently splattering the edge of the parchment with ink. How exactly was he supposed to write a letter if he couldn’t get passed the bloody salutation?

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry calmed himself down and cleaned the page with a half-muttered _Evanesco_ before retrieving the quill and trying again. It took him almost half an hour to write and be vaguely satisfied with the four-line effort he decided to send.

 

_Severus,_

_It was good to see you on Friday. I hope you had a good time as well._

_I was wondering if you would join me for dinner on Wednesday evening? I know a Thai place in London._

_Hope to hear from you soon._

_Harry Potter_

Harry read and reread the note several times. After another half an hour and a visit to Rose to check on her, he decided that this was as good as it was going to get so he may as well just send it. He folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and tied it to Iris’ leg.

 

“Think you could find Severus Snape, girl? I’m not sure of the address.”

 

Iris gave him a withering look, as if to say that of course she could deliver the letter; what kind of post owl did Harry think he was talking to? Her eyes then darted to Pig and back to Harry before she hopped begrudgingly onto the window ledge, indicating she was ready to go.

 

As Harry watched her shadow growing smaller the further she soared into the distance, he couldn’t help but wonder just exactly what he’d let himself in for.

 ****

 

Severus Snape took a deep, soothing breath. This was unexpected. He did not, generally, like the unexpected.

 

An order for a month’s worth of Blood-replenishing potion from St Mungo’s? Were the fools finally willing to accept his reputation for skill over his past actions? He suppressed a smirk but not altogether successfully.

 

This order would set him up for at least three months. And maybe allow him to progress his own research instead of filling inane orders, mostly from half-brained wizards and witches too lazy to complete their own brews, to enable him to pay his rent. Severus looked around the small study of his rented cottage house in Upper Flagley. He had utterly refused to return to Spinner’s End, the site and source of much of his past suffering, after recovering from his injuries at the end of the war.

 

To say he’d been surprised to wake up to astringent smell of Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing with a pale, beaten-looking Harry Potter at his bedside, clutching a small vial of memories, would most definitely be the understatement of the century. He had truly believed for some time near the end that neither of them would be breathing after the resolution of the war.

 

He had spent a good number of months recovering physically in St Mungo’s and then with Minerva McGonagall, recovering their tarnished and battered friendship. It was only a couple of years since he’d started his Owl Order business in an attempt to maintain some of his professional reputation as a Potions Master.

 

Severus was gathering parchment and a quill, already having drafted a letter of reply and apparent begrudging acceptance in his head (it wouldn’t do to appear too eager) when a sharp rapping noise distracted him.

 

He frowned. The rapping came again, more insistent this time. It appeared to be coming from the kitchen.

 

A large owl was perched on the window ledge, staring at Severus with an evident look of sheer impatience. Severus felt his own ire rise in response to the look. What right did this creature have to be annoyed at _him_?

 

Nevertheless, he opened the window and the bird hopped in and settled itself on the tap over the sink. It hooted imperiously and held out its leg with a look that somehow conveyed, ‘Well, are you going to take it then?’

 

Severus begrudgingly untied the envelope attached to the owl’s leg. “I’m not doing this because you told me to,” he told it defiantly. It hooted as if to say, ‘yeah, sure’ in reply but didn’t move to fly away. It was clearly waiting for a response.

 

Severus pursed his lips and opened the letter. His left eyebrow rose impossibly high as he read it.

 

He hadn’t thought Potter was being serious! He frowned, deeply, and dropped into a seat at the kitchen table. This was _definitely_ unexpected. But unpleasantly so? Severus wasn’t at all sure.

 

He had to admit the evening he had spent with the younger man had not been an altogether disagreeable way to pass time. He wasn’t at all sure what had compelled him to invite Potter along after he’d delivered his parcel to the Castillo fellow. He’d been quite caught out when Potter literally bumped into him outside of a Muggle gay club and all but spilled his heart out.

 

Initially, he’d put asking the boy to join him down to a lingering sense of debt to Lily and possibly to Harry himself. After all, the boy had obviously made sure to send aid to the Shrieking Shack that dreadful night four years ago, even if he’d believed Severus to be beyond help. But if he thought about it, maybe he had been curious as to what the apparent Saviour of the World had been up to.

 

The long-eared owl hooted peevishly. Trust Potter to own such a querulous bird.

 

Potter likely had some kind of underlying motivation in inviting him out again. Severus reluctantly conceded that he’d perhaps had too many beers during the evening, leading his to agree to see the other man again. But perhaps it wouldn’t be so dreadful to get out the house? And he could quell any further impulse of Potter’s to contact him much more easily face to face if the younger wizard had unpalatable intentions. The boy was nothing if not stubborn, as borne out by his being alive at the current time.

 

“Wait here. Do not move,” he ordered the owl before going back to his study. He wrote a brief reply of acceptance and then returned to find the owl had, irritatingly, moved to sit on the back of the chair he had been sitting on just before.

 

He stayed quiet as he tied the letter to the owl’s leg. The bird hooted again and then flapped back over to the window. It gave him one, final irritated glare before flying off into the darkening sky.

 

With a clenched jaw, Severus wondered what on earth he had just agreed to.

 

 


	3. The (maybe) Date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Severus set a day for their date. Is it a date? Harry can't help but wonder what Snape is thinking and has a feeling things will not go smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! I'm glad this is liked. 
> 
> So, this is my first attempt at smut. Not too graphic but please let me know.   
> This is unbetad as I couldn't find anyone so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Fenchurch is a real station. Pepys Street is pronounced 'peeps'. The restaurant is not real and the maitre'd is original to me. As are Gary and Steven.

Wednesday evening came both far too slowly and far too soon for Harry’s liking, which made him think that he could be the victim of a rogue Time Turner user.

 

He’d mentioned this to Luna, whom he had met over tea on Monday afternoon. She had given him a dreamy half-smile and said something about hot stoves and nice girls. Harry was sure this made sense to her and smiled encouragingly despite feeling more confused than ever.

 

He had, thankfully, managed to dodge any more of Hermione’s questions when she and Ron had come home on Saturday night. Thus, he had managed to keep his plans to meet up with Snape from being dragged out into the open. Harry could not be sure what his best friends’ reactions were going to be when and if he eventually told them about his newest crush.

 

He imagined there would be a lot of shouting.

 

The mantle clock over his fireplace chimed and the miniature Quidditch player on the short hand moved firmly over to ‘Time to go’. Harry breathed deeply before Disapparating from his living room.

 

He reappeared in an empty lane off of Pepys Street. Through further correspondence, he had agreed to meet Snape at London Fenchurch Underground station before heading on to the restaurant Harry had chosen.  

 

As he walked, he tried to ignore the roiling waves of nausea and panic that ebbed and flowed within him. He harboured a tentative hope that something could grow from this night. That it was Severus Snape with whom he hoped to cultivate a potential relationship was an irony Harry could not ignore.

 

But what did Snape want?

 

He didn’t have a chance to contemplate this question any further because the man in question was standing at the main entrance to the underground station, arms crossed, and glaring at any Muggle that came within five foot of him.

 

Harry suppressed a laugh, but not a smile, and moved forward to greet the older wizard. He was pleased but not surprised that Snape had managed to dress in the appropriate Muggle attire for the evening. The dark green waistcoat and plain white shirt accentuated his slim waist and the tailored black trousers emphasised the long line of his legs. He did notice the slightly silvery scars that started just below the angle of Snape’s jaw on the right side of his neck and disappeared under the collar of the shirt. Overall, Harry liked the effect much more than he’d liked the teaching robes from his Hogwarts days.

 

“Hello!” Harry greeted Snape so enthusiastically that several Muggle couples veered away from the two of them warily.

 

“Indeed.”

 

Not one to be easily deterred, Harry tried again. “Nice evening, isn’t it? Unseasonably warm, yeah?”

 

Snape eyed him, guardedly. Okay. So he needed to pull this back from the brink.

 

“Our reservation is at seven thirty. Do you want a drink before that?”

 

“That would be acceptable,” Snape replied, seeming to relax somewhat at the mention of alcohol.

 

“Brilliant.”

 

Harry stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and started to walk in the general direction of the restaurant. Snape walked at his side wordlessly. This was going to be difficult.

 

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before Harry came up with something to break the silence.

 

“Had anymore commissions?”

 

Snape looked at him appraisingly and Harry felt that he was being examined inside and out. He knew for a fact that Snape could see exactly what he was thinking if he wanted to. At the moment, however, Harry wanted nothing more than to make the evening at least a little less awkward than having a House Elf in a Goblin convention.

 

“Apart from the Mopsus potion I was delivering on the evening we met, I have received a request from St Mungo’s for Blood Replenishing Potion.”

 

Harry could just pick out the hint of pride in Snape’s voice and felt an odd warmth spark in his chest before the man’s previous words caught up with him.

 

“Mopsus potion?” He frowned and looked sideways at the older man. “Why was someone wanting you to make them a Mopsus potion? And why did you do it? It’s a bit illegal to help people gain telekinesis and prophetic visions, isn’t it?”

 

“Only in the strictest sense,” Snape replied.

 

Harry swore there was a hint of mischief in his voice and he chuckled softly.

 

“ _You_ are not unfamiliar with the brewing of illegal potions, if my depleted potions stores at Hogwarts were to stand as evidence,” Snape continued, waspishly, as they crossed the road at a Zebra crossing.

 

Harry waved a hand in thanks at the taxi driver who had stopped for them and grinned wryly at his companion. “Now _that_ was Hermione. I’ve never brewed anything illegal in my life.

 

Snape looked unconvinced but his expression changed to one of surprise as Harry resumed. “Now, bank robbery – that’s much more my style.”

 

 

 

The evening had improved considerably from then on, Harry felt. He was almost convinced Snape was having a good time as well, if the relaxed way he swirled his wine in the glass as he spoke and slightly slouched posture in his seat were anything to go by.

 

“This is a much more acceptable establishment than the one I caught you coming out of on Friday,” Snape commented casually. “I was expecting something much less… sophisticated.”

 

“Yeah, well, that mistake was courtesy of Hermione’s cousin, Gary, and his partner Steven. A mistake I won’t be making again. They’re a nice couple – met them at ‘Mione’s for dinner once. Gary was a bit odd but he is related to Hermione. Steven seemed nice. Maybe a bit chatty; lots of questions.”

 

Harry sipped his own glass of white wine to stop his rambling and tried to watch Snape inconspicuously. “I guess you like sophisticated men? People?” Harry corrected himself quickly, though he couldn’t stifle his blush. He was fishing for information and not being very subtle about it.

 

Snape paused midway through a sip of his red wine, as though caught out, but then continued calmly as if unflustered.

 

“The relationships I have had which have lasted long enough to be considered as such have been with people of at least moderate intelligence and culture,” he said tersely. “You can understand that I do not have the patience for idiocy.”

 

If Harry new one thing about Severus Snape, then that was it. No, sir, he did not stand for fools or laziness. It sounded like such stupid question now.

 

He sighed sadly.

 

_I suppose it was too good to be true; another unrequited crush. At least I can cut this one off early._

He could hear Snape’s next words now in his head. _‘As such, Potter, I will be leaving thusly! Goodbye and good riddance! Do not deign to contact me again.’_

“It shows a good deal of class that you have chosen this venue for our date.”

 

_What. The. Fuck?_

Harry’s head snapped up so fast he felt a twinge of pain in his left arm. “Date?”

 

Snape appraised him curiously. “That was the purpose of your invitation, was it not?”

 

Harry blinked, shocked into silence. He hadn’t been at all sure that the older man had gleaned Harry’s intentions. Which he supposed was silly – Snape had been a spy for years. The man was a genius.

 

“Yeah, I mean,” Harry stuttered and then grinned at Snape. “Wow, I mean, of course. Brilliant.”

 

An expression crossed over Snape’s face too quickly for Harry to really catch it but then he gave Harry a small smile and raised is glass. “Brilliant indeed.”

 

They clinked their glasses and Harry had to use both hands to stop the glass from shaking too much.

 

 

Severus wasn’t quite sure why he’d agreed that he was, in fact, on a date with Harry Potter. He only knew he hadn’t liked the sad, downtrodden look on the other man’s face.

 

Which was odd. He would have deeply loved to see that look on James Potter’s face, which is really what Harry had. Except it was different. Harry had really changed only a little from school – his face was thinner and shoulders a little broader but still slim. His features had, perhaps, sharpened a little and if Severus was honest with himself he could see more of Lily in him than he’d let himself see before; not just his eyes.

 

Harry wore his emotions so close to the surface. Which, incidentally, was likely why he was such an appalling Occlumens. Severus had read the disappointment and resignation on Harry’s face as easily as he had read the wine menu (reasonably priced and varied selection of upmarket wines; lovely).

 

And he hadn’t like it one bit.

 

After an initial bout of suspicion, he had seen through the young man’s seemingly casual request to meet again. Harry was, perhaps, trying to make something up to Severus after their tumultuous past but the more he thought about it and the more he watched Harry, the more he recognised the symptoms of a crush. A crush on him! Merlin could only know why.

 

It had to be his guilt over Lily and Harry’s aid that was making him do this. It had to. It definitely had nothing to do with any kind of attraction to the man Harry Potter had become. A man so very different to James…

 

“Time for dinner?”

 

Harry’s question prevented Severus from thinking anymore about this bizarre situation or, god forbid, his _feelings_.

 

He looked into Harry’s open, hopeful face; took in the sparkling green almond-shaped eyes and gulped.

 

He nodded and downed his wine. Harry gave him a cheeky half grin and started putting his coat on.

 

They left the wine bar, walking side by side towards the restaurant.

 

“I hope you like Thai,” Harry said offhandedly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask. This place is great. Really small and the owner is really friendly.”

 

“I’m sure it will be adequate,” Severus replied, watching Harry as he flattened his fringe over his scar. The riot that was his hair refused to comply and eventually Harry gave up.

 

“I have noticed,” Severus stated, “that you try to hide your scar. And both times I have met with you recently have been in Muggle establishments.”

 

Harry shrugged self-consciously. “I don’t get recognised or bothered in Muggle London as much,” he said and sent Severus a self-deprecating smile. “Whenever I go to the Leaky or visit Neville in Hogsmeade people tend to… notice. I like being anonymous.

 

“People are mostly nice,” he added hastily. “But I quite like having a meal without the attention.”

 

Harry stayed quiet for the rest of their walk and Severus spent the few minutes thinking that he, may, perhaps, _potentially_ have been wrong about Harry all along.

 

He didn’t even think to wonder when he had become ‘Harry’, and not ‘Potter’, in his mind.

 

 

 

The maitre’d of the small Thai restaurant Harry had chosen was extremely welcoming and Harry accepted the warm embrace as the older man hugged him tightly.

 

Harry noted a distinctly sour look on Snape’s face and stifled a laugh as he stood back.

 

“Harry! So good to see you again! It’s been too long.”

 

Larry Higgins was a tall man in his early 50s and looked nothing like his diminutive, elderly, Thai mother who happened to own the restaurant he worked in. He had a round, kind face, with a sweeping blond comb over, and a little potbelly that reinforced the superiority of his mother’s cooking. His clear blue eyes were sharp and belied his innocuousness. Harry loved him for his enthusiasm.

 

Larry sat them at a prime table in the corner of the restaurant – they weren’t passed by too many waiting staff but were clearly visible from the main desk in case they wanted anything.

 

“Who’s your friend, Harry?” Larry asked rakishly. “First time you’ve brought someone with you.”

 

Larry winked and Harry blushed furiously. “Larry, this is Severus – he’s, uh, um, he’s…”

 

“His date,” Severus finished for him, narrowing his eyes at the other man as if in challenge.

 

Larry laughed so loudly the other patrons of the restaurant stared in their direction. Harry flattened his fringe again and stared at the drinks menu.

 

“Oh, I know that, son,” Larry choked out in between giggles.

 

Severus glared at him.

 

“Known Harry for a couple of years; comes in and we feed him proper. He’d a good lad but definitely as gay as a maypole!”

 

“Larry, please?”

 

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses. This was not ideal.

 

“Don’t worry, lad,” Larry clapped him on the shoulder. “Bottle of champers on the house for you! It’s definitely something to celebrate – you getting a date, Harry!”

 

Larry left the table to go to the bar and Harry finally looked at Severus, grimacing in apology.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I promise this place is worth it! I knew Larry was mad but…”

 

“It is fine,” Severus said and reached over to take Harry’s right hand, which he was using to scratch his left furiously in anxiety.

 

He kept a hold of it and Harry sent him a gentle smile and turned his hand to grip Severus in his own.

 

An ice bucket with a bottle of Veuve Cliquot was plonked onto the table beside their grasp. At least it was nice champagne, Harry thought, as Severus withdrew his hand.

 

A loud pop of a cork and hasty food order later, they fell into another easy conversation. Harry had to wonder at the effortlessness of their new acquaintance when compared to the old. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that maybe it was magic but he was distracted by Severus’ story of a commission gone wrong that involved an elderly lady opening the door in nothing but her lingerie with a rose in her mouth.

 

He laughed as Severus explained how he’d silently handed her the potion and walked away, forgoing any payment.

 

The champagne made his head tingle and Harry settled into a happy state of contentment as he listened to Severus and ate when their food was brought. It was perfect.

 

 

Apparently, it was too good to last.

 

When Severus went to the bathroom, Harry sat, relaxed and happy, and observed the other people around him quietly until…

 

“HARRY POTTER?!”

 

The shrill, cry echoed through the restaurant and Harry winced. Not again.

 

He turned and was faced with an exuberant Gary, who was dressed in a short-sleeved pink shirt and chinos. Steven his, apparently, ever-patient partner stood at his side. Steven’s dark eyes met Harry’s with an apologetic grimace and he grasped Gary’s shoulder firmly. It didn’t deter the exuberant man.

 

“Wow, who would have thought you’d be here tonight? After meeting you at Hermione’s? Imagine that! Steven did you know he’d be here? It’s our three-month anniversary by the way! And here you are!” Gary’s gaze flitted to Severus’ empty plate and the upturned bottle of champagne.

 

“And apparently not alone!” He sing-songed.

 

_Oh, my god._

 

Harry flushed and gave Gary a strained smile. “Heeey…” he replied in hushed tones, as though he was trying to calm a jittery Mooncalf, though his lowered voice apparently had no effect on Gary’s enthusiasm. “Nice to see you again Gary; Steven. Happy anniversary… I guess.” Harry was perplexed that three months could be counted as an anniversary. Surely anniversary meant at least a year?

 

“Uh-huh!” Gary squawked. “You are not getting away that easily, Mr Potter! Hermione will want to know who you’re out with pronto, mister!”

 

People were staring at them openly now. Steven, Merlin bless him, came to Harry’s rescue. “Gar, let’s just sit down yeah? Let Harry alone.”

 

Harry smiled gratefully at Steven as he hustled his exuberant boyfriend to their own table, thankfully out of sight of his and Severus’ table. Severus was wonderful tonight but Harry wasn’t sure he would sustain the company of boisterous Gary for any length of time.

 

He took out his wallet and tried to catch Larry’s eye just as Severus returned to the table. “We are leaving?”

 

Harry stopped, though Larry was already printing off their bill. “You don’t want to?”

 

Severus’ lips twitched into a brief smile. “It seems an early time for the evening to end.”

 

Harry smirked. Of course Severus wouldn’t be frank. He caught and held Severus’ gaze as Larry bustled over with the bill. “Want to see my flat?”

 

 

Harry owned a one bedroom flat in a ridiculously large, converted town house in a quiet(ish) suburb of Muggle London. Grimmauld Place was still undergoing renovations when Harry could be bothered but he was unsure if he could ever live there permanently. He hoped it might be good enough for Teddy to live in one day if he wanted to but it held too many memories for Harry to stay there.

 

The flat, which he had bought a year after the war for the express purpose of moving out of the creepy old house, was cosy in Harry’s own words. Ron said it was claustrophobic. But Harry loved it. He’d spent a lot of time ensuring the Muggle electronics and appliances could still function with his magic going on around them. His furniture was an odd mix of charity shop pieces and heirlooms he had found in his Gringott’s vault, which he’d accessed again after much protest from the Goblins. After all, they couldn’t really stop the Saviour of the Wizarding World from accessing his money. Even if they really, _really_ wanted to.

 

He’d also collected a number of small knick-knacks and magical objects. His favourite item, though, was the small moving picture of his first Weasley family Christmas after the war, which sat beside his clock on the mantelpiece. From the frame, all of the redheaded family waved out at him whilst his own picture self blushed horribly from all the mulled wine he’d had. He only had to remember to cast a freezing charm on it whenever the gasman came found to read the meter.

 

Harry opened the door to the living room-cum-entrance-cum-dining room and took a deep breath.

 

“Well, I can give you the tour but it’s short,” he joked nervously over his shoulder to Severus.

 

He turned on the lights, revealing the open space. Severus headed immediately towards the bookcases that lined the walls. Over the last few years, Harry had acquired a number of tomes, courtesy of friends, publishers who continued to encourage him to write his own memoirs, and his own ventures to the literary world.

 

Harry watched the other man, amused, as Severus scoured the shelves meticulously, and then went into the kitchen to uncork a bottle of red wine. He removed his wand from his wrist holster and placed it on the counter. He continued to watch the older man through the serving hatch of his small kitchen. Severus stopped and picked out a volume on potions that Harry had acquired from an auction just last month.

 

As Harry moved towards one of his settees, both of which were set in front of his fireplace, he asked, “Find something interesting?”

 

Severus turned to look at him, an incredulous look on his face.

 

“You have a first edition copy of _Moste Potente Potions_?”

 

Harry set the glasses down on the coffee table and shrugged. “I was interested.”

 

“Harry,” Severus declared, as though Harry were slightly dim, “This is the rarest volume of potions texts in the Wizarding world.”

 

“Yes,” Harry affirmed casually as he sat down. “I was interested.”

 

“Interested?”

 

Severus grasped the volume to his chest and hurried to sit beside Harry on the sofa. “Do you have any idea of the value? The meaning?”

 

“I do, actually,” Harry interrupted.   He placed his wine glass on the table. “After the war I did a bit of potions research. Thought it might… help. And my mum was good at potions. I rescued the book from a closing auction at an apothecary. Think it would have been thrown out otherwise. The elderly own had no idea. I have a few other volumes as well if you want to see them?”

 

Severus continued to caress the tomb with utmost reverence.

 

“I read some more about potions and decided I liked it. I have my own brewing station in the bedroom. Away from the windows, of course.”

 

Harry smiled, softly, and eased the old book out of Severus’ hands. “Don’t worry,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’ve charmed the windows so they won’t let the light in and damage the covers.”

 

He laid the book on the table and turned back to the older man who was watching him, hungrily.

 

“Severus?” Harry asked, nervous all of a sudden.

 

Lips descended upon Harry’s own with astonishing force and Harry was pushed back so he was lying on the sofa with Severus on top of him. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the kiss entirely. Severus opened his mouth and licked Harry’s lips, probing and trying to gain entrance. Harry was all too happy to comply.

 

He wrapped his arms around the other man’s back as his mouth was thoroughly explored.

 

“Ugh,” he moaned as they separated for air. Severus peppered his face and neck with light kisses and Harry groaned again as his erection decided to join the party.

 

“Severus,” he sighed, “Oh, god…”

 

“You are so full of surprises, Potter.”

 

Harry felt Serverus’ own erection hard against his hip and thanked the gods again that he’d suggested somewhere requiring Muggle attire for their evening out.

 

“Do… do you…” Harry murmured between kisses, “Do you want to see the bedroom?”

 

“I thought you would never ask,” Severus replied and he jumped up with such alacrity Harry was stunned into contrasting immobility.

 

Severus extended a hand, which Harry accepted gratefully and was pulled into a tight embrace. Severus’ lips descending on his own with enthusiasm.

 

Harry pulled away but kept a tight grip on the other man’s hand, leading him towards the left-hand door of the opposite wall, which lead to his bedroom.

 

Once inside, door firmly shut, and lights turned to a suitably sensual level with a wave of Harry’s hand, Harry found himself being pushed up against the wall, hands raised above his head, as Severus’ tongue investigated his neck and left ear.

 

Harry quickly turned to recapture Severus’ lips and kissed him hard.

 

“Jesus,” he cried when the other man lowered his left hand to cup Harry’s hardness through his jeans. “Please, oh, please Sev?”

 

Severus paused for a fraction of a second and then moved to unbutton Harry’s trousers whilst still holding his hands over his head.

 

Utter bliss, Harry thought, as long, strong fingers wrapped around his penis and squeezed lightly.

 

“Oh, fuck me.”

 

“If you are good, perhaps,” Severus breathed into his ear whilst nipping lightly at the earlobe.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

Harry thought he would cum immediately if the other man kept talking like that. Severus chuckled, still stroking Harry’s erection, seemingly amused at reducing his new lover to such base language.

 

He removed his hand from Harry’s member and it and the other on Harry’s hips, allowing Harry to wrap his arms around Severus’ neck. The continued to kiss and grope at one another as Severus backed them towards the bed.

 

He’d apparently taken charge in light of Harry’s utter mind melt. Harry found himself being turned and laid onto his soft cotton duvet cover. Merlin, why hadn’t he changed the sheets?! He had the lovely silk ones somewhere that Hermione’s parents gave him.

 

Severus didn’t seem to mind, though, or perhaps he didn’t notice, as he continued to undress Harry in an orderly fashion. Harry tried to reach for Severus’ shirt but his hands were batted away so that his own shirt could be removed.

 

He wasn’t really aware of how but soon Harry lay, naked and exposed before the older man and he began to feel self-conscious as the dark eyes surveyed him greedily.

 

“Ta da?” He joked and immediately felt horrible about it.

 

Severus didn’t seem to mind as he descended upon Harry like a fog in London town. Harry moved quickly to remove the other man’s clothes, desperate to feel skin on skin. Soon, Severus was naked and Harry pushed him back, holding onto his shoulders so he could observe.

 

“Wow,” he murmured as he took in Severus’ body lying over him. “Really, Sev…. Fuck. Me,” he said in wonder.

 

Severus snorted and kissed his way down Harry’s torso. “You are easily impressed.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I’m not complaining,” Severus replied just before he sucked the tip of Harry’s cock into his mouth.

 

Harry cried out and arched his back at the unexpected action. Severus continued to lavish his dick in outrageous attention, licking precome from his slit and then brining a hand up to fondle his balls, and Harry felt himself nearing completion.

 

“St-stop!” He yelled.

 

Severus looked up at him, confused.

 

“I’m too close,” Harry said, flushing even harder. “Come up here.”

 

The other wizard complied and stalked his way up Harry’s body like a panther on the hunt.

 

Their erections rubbed against each other and both gasped in elation. Harry thrust upwards wit his hips, pulling Severus into a bruising kiss at the same time. They continued to frot against each other until Harry felt himself tighten and suddenly there was warmth spreading over his stomach. At the same time, Severus cried out and his grip in Harry’s hair became almost unbearable.

 

Afterwards, Severus slumped on top of Harry and the younger man hooked his left leg around the other man’s right one and held him tightly around his waist.

 

He felt a puff of air into his neck as Severus let out a breathy laugh. Harry chuckled and held the other man tighter.

 

“If I’d known liking potions would get you to do that, maybe I’d have tried harder in school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I was thinking of Einstein's apparent quote with Luna's comments.
> 
> There will be adventure on the way!   
> Yours, C.O.


	4. The Morning After Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Harry and Severus meet for dinner in London. A mystery catches Harry's attention and Severus admits a secret to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> First of all: wow. Thank you so much for the wonderful comments and the kudos! I'm trying to reply to everyone but may not catch everyone quickly. This idea formed in my mind and has just blossomed and I am so pleased that you enjoy it. And if you don't then I hope you do find something to your taste somewhere on the site! 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is sort of Severus light but he will be back in full force! 
> 
> Thank you again, you lovely people, you!  
> C.O.

“That tickles.”

 

Harry paused and smirked at droll tone of the comment, the effect of which was slightly diminished by the remnant of sleep in his lover’s voice. He resumed his drawing of invisible trails over the other man’s chest. He craned his neck slightly so that he could look up at Severus and smiled mischievously. He sent a small, warm spark of magic through his finger as he traced a small path up towards the man’s neck and then down his belly.

 

“You are playing with fire, Potter,” Severus said with a short gasp but kept his eyes closed.

 

“I really think you can call me ‘Harry’ now,” Harry remarked wryly, raising an eyebrow and stopped trailing his finger over to lay his hand flat on Severus’ stomach. The implied ‘after what we did last night’ hung in the air between them as Harry rested his chin on Severus chest to continue watching him.

 

The night had ended in a way Harry had definitely not expected. He’d hoped but hope only got you so far, he’d learned over the years. His eyes glazed over as he remembered Severus thrusting into him, hovering over him, a dark curtain of hair framing Harry’s face as they kissed…

 

His musings were rudely interrupted as Severus moved to sit up. Harry rolled over slightly and sat, resting his weight on his hands as he watched Severus get up out of bed and search for his clothes.

 

“What are you doing?” He asked and cursed himself for the hint of desperation in his voice.

 

“I’m getting dressed. It is ridiculously late in the day,” was the curt reply he received.

 

Harry glanced towards his bedside alarm clock and squinted. It was 11am.

 

He scrambled to find his glasses, holding the sheet to him, and got out of bed. “Do you have to leave? I thought we might… I don’t know, have brunch or something. Isn’t that something people do?”

 

Severus was wearing his located trousers and was currently buttoning up his shirt. He seemed to be avoiding Harry’s face. “Some of us have obligations to attend to.”

 

This stung more than Harry wanted it to. He wrapped the sheet around himself like a cloak and stepped closer to his reluctant lover. “Hey,” he said softly. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

 

He peered up into the other man’s face, trying to get Severus to meet his gaze. The older man sighed and hesitantly looked into Harry’s eyes. He appeared guilty.

 

Severus stopped dressing himself and his shoulders slumped. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his long, black hair, which was messier and more unruly than Harry had ever seen it.

 

“No, Harry,” he replied. “No, you did not. I was just… never mind.”

 

Harry reached out a tentatively and took Severus’ hand in his own. Severus softened more and Harry found himself tugged forward. He rested his head on the taller man’s shoulder and closed his eyes as Severus wrapped his arms loosely around him.

 

“Can I see you again?” Harry asked softly, speaking mostly into the soft material of the shirt.

 

He hated a little bit of himself for getting so invested in a potential relationship so early. But last night had been wonderful. Harry hadn’t felt that free or happy in years. It occurred to him he should find it odd that his lover was old enough to be his father. Had, in fact, hated his father. But he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

 

Harry felt Severus tense ever so slightly before the arms around him tightened briefly and Severus nodded against his hair.

 

“That would be agreeable.”

 

Harry smiled, relieved. Of course Severus couldn’t just say, ‘yes’. He looked up at Severus’ face and leaned up slightly to kiss him softly before pulling away.

 

“I’ll let you get dressed and make you a cup of tea before you go,” he said as he found his pyjama bottoms, which had been dumped onto his desk chair two nights before. He cringed and really wished he’d known Severus would be coming back to his flat so he could at least have tidied a bit. He walked back into the main room, pulling on a t-shirt that smelled vaguely acceptable.

 

He picked up the two glasses of wine they had failed to drink the previous night on his way to the kitchen. He tried not to think about the waste of a nice red and picked up his wand from the counter. He used it to flick on the small Muggle Radio sitting on top of the fridge. A catchy pop song filled the kitchen and Harry hummed along as he prepared the tea.

 

Harry didn't own a television but had both a Muggle Radio and a Wizarding Wireless. The Wizarding news tended to be pretty depressing at the moment and so Harry had taken to putting on the Muggle stations more often than not.

 

A great number of Wizards and Witches were still living unsettled and turbulent lives after the war, even nearly four years on. The reconstruction of the Ministry was deemed to be top priority by the new Minister for Magic, Conley Fowl. Kingsley Shaklebolt had been given the position temporarily just after the defeat of Voldemort. In Harry’s opinion, he had done a splendid job but he had been pushed out of office by the infuriating lobbying group ‘W.A.D.E.’ (Wizards Against the Dark and Evil).

 

As well as their appalling acronym, W.A.D.E. was full of witches and wizards who believed that any relaxation of a number of anachronistic, out of date laws and restrictions enforced on certain species would lead to the inevitable and irreversible downfall of the Wizarding world. They campaigned for the tightening of werewolf restrictions and for the total abolition of any material even mentioning the Dark Arts from the Hogwarts library and curriculum, amongst other things.

 

Hermione hated them with a vengeance and didn’t restrain her vitriolic ranting when they were mentioned. Many of them were also the same people who had sent Harry the letters declaring him to be a deviant menace to society. He was glad they didn’t know about the rest of his recent past, for sure.

 

Unfortunately, they had gained quite a substantial following after some of the early Death Eater hunts had failed and after the trials. That Fenrir Greyback was a werewolf and a Death Eater almost put the death knell on any progress in Werewolf rights. And the _Prophet_ had leaked some pretty graphic details of the Death Eater activities. Harry worried mostly about Teddy and how people would react when they found out his father had been a werewolf.

 

The most galling fact was that Harry knew many of the leading members to have been Voldemort sympathisers if not full supporters. It made Harry feel nauseated to think of it. The Wizarding world still had a long way to go be

 

So Harry listened to the more relaxing Muggle music and tended to tune out when the news came on.

 

Severus, now fully dressed, came into the room just as Harry set the kettle back down. He seemed to survey the small galley kitchen with the same intense curiosity he had shown for Harry’s books the night before.

 

“It is very Muggle,” he said.

 

“Hmmm,” Harry hummed in agreement as he squeezed the tea bags against the side of the mugs before disposing of them.

 

He turned back to the tea and was about to ask if Severus wanted milk or lemon when a pair of strong arms and potions stained hands wrapped around his waist from behind.

 

“More surprises,” Severus murmured huskily into his hair. Harry smiled and turned around in the arms encircling him.

 

“You seem to like surprises,” he said, resting his hands on the other man’s chest. Severus replied with a kiss that turned Harry’s knees to jelly.

 

“I am free on Sunday,” Severus said after they separated.

 

“Sounds great,” Harry replied dreamily before exclaiming, “Oh shit!”

 

“That was not how I anticipated you would react.”

 

“No, sorry, it’s just that I’ve got Teddy this weekend. Andromeda is away with her friends or something and won’t be back until late on Sunday,” Harry sighed. He didn’t want to have to wait, even until Sunday, to see Severus again. He frowned apologetically. “I’m meant to be taking him to the Burrow on Saturday too.”

 

Severus paused. “I could rearrange some appointments and be free tomorrow evening, I suppose.”

 

“Really?” Harry beamed at Severus.   “You’d do that for me?”

 

“I would not offer if I were not willing,” Severus answered curtly.

 

“Okay, okay, yeah – tomorrow night is perfect. Now drink your tea before it gets cold.”

 

 *******

 

After Severus had finished his cup of tea and Harry had stolen some more kisses, he left the flat via the Floo with a parting promise to bring something nice for dinner on Friday.

 

He arrived in the living room of his cottage and immediately headed to the shower without bothering to check for post.

 

Well, that was not how he had predicted the evening would play out. He stepped under the hot stream of water and closed his eyes tightly.

 

“Fuck,” he growled.

 

He’d lost control. It had been years since he’d let himself be swept along in the heat of the moment. And it had been with Harry bloody Potter of all people – Harry ‘The Boy Who Lived’ Potter, Harry-twenty-years-his-junior-Potter.

 

Worst of all, Severus knew he’d enjoyed spending time with the younger man and actually did want to see Harry again. He was funny and clever and surprisingly considerate. Harry radiated power and magic like a fire – being with him in bed was like being recharged with an injection of youth.

 

It scared Severus that he could possibly let himself become so open with the young man he had started to loathe when he was a baby, for being the son of James Potter – for not being Lily. But Harry seemed so different to his old perceptions of him as a boy. He was nothing like James last night, certainly.

 

Severus hated being wrong.

 

The water started to run cold and Severus turned off the spray and stepped out of the shower. As he dried himself and slipped on his dressing gown, he briefly acknowledged another cause for his fear before pushing it firmly to the back of his mind.

 

He was scared.   He was scared because Severus knew that if he allowed himself to become too attached to Harry it would hurt all the more when he (like all people did) eventually left Severus; alone with a new scar on his heart and only memories to sustain him. He would not let that happen again.

 

But, for now, he could enjoy the company – and the sex. Oh, no, he couldn’t forget the sex.

 

He dressed with a smirk on his face and slipped, contentedly, into his reminiscences.

 

********

 

Harry kept the radio on as he cleaned the kitchen. He was still riding high on knowing he would see Severus again on Friday. He grinned even as he scrubbed the oven. No matter what anyone said, magic never really did as good a job as good old elbow grease and industrial strength cleaner!

 

His dishes from the last few days were washing themselves in the sink, clinking softly together as they then stacked themselves, when the radio announcer’s commentary caught Harry’s attention.

 

_“And in local news, a man has died after what appears to be a burglary gone wrong at the popular restaurant ‘All Thai’d Up’. The man who has been identified as Terrence Freeman, the restaurant’s kitchen porter, was allegedly found in the kitchen without any signs of a struggle or any clue as to his cause of death. The restaurant’s owner, Mrs May Higgins aged 76, declined to comment at this time. Freeman, aged 22, was a well-liked member of the local community…”_

Harry stopped listening, stunned. That was Larry’s restaurant. He and Severus had been there last night. He’d met Terry before. He sat back on his heels and the sponge he was holding dropped wetly onto the floor.

 

_Without signs of a struggle or cause of death?_

He wasn’t sure why but that phrase made Harry very uncomfortable. His ears tuned into the radio again as they spoke to one of the witnesses.

 

_“’Just lying there, ‘e was! Eyes wide open, like; no cuts or scrapes or nuffing. Like magic it was…’”_

Harry turned off the radio with a wave of his wand, cutting off the attention-seeking witness’s commentary.

 

_Like magic._

 

He screwed his eyes shut and pulled off his rubber gloves.

 

“Bugger.”

 

******** 

 

“I’m telling you, Ron, there’s something fishy about this!”

 

“Yeah, there is mate! What were you doing at a Thai restaurant last night? Did you have a date?”

 

Harry slammed his hand down and yelled, “Damn it, Ron, I’m not joking!”

 

This Floo call was not going as expected. Ron chuckled and put his hands in the air. The effect, two floating hands on either side of Ron’s face, would have been quite amusing had it not been for the fact Harry was seriously concerned. “You’ve read one too many crime novels, mate.”

 

Harry scowled.

 

“Harry, really, if we got involved in every potentially weird Muggle murder we’d be up to our ears in cases. Well, we are now anyway but even higher ears in that case!”

 

Harry huffed. “But, Ron, I’ve got a really bad feeling about this one. Something is going on.”

 

Ron sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry mate, I’ve not got the creds to bring this up to the bosses. I’m still in the bad books from last time. Besides, there’s a whole branch of the Muggle police that interacts with the Ministry. If they’re worried, they’ll contact us.” He shrugged, “Sorry, Harry.”

 

Harry knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with his argument. Dejected, he replied, “Yeah, sure, mate. Thanks. Sorry for calling you at work.”

 

He disconnected the Floo before Ron could reply. He stood and dusted his hands off on his jeans. It was times like this he wished he’d taken that Auror training post he’d been offered years ago.

 

Even years after the war weird stuff seemed to follow Harry about like a shadow. Like that music box he’d bought for Rose that turned out to be cursed to play the thoughts of the person holding it. Or like the case of the disappearing house pets, which turned out to be a bizarre time anomaly in the corridor outside his flat. That had taken weeks for the Unspeakables to fix – a logistical nightmare in his Muggle building.

 

Maybe Ron was right. Maybe he should just let it alone. The Muggle police would get it sorted, he reflected as he pulled on his jacket and tightened the strap on his wand harness around his wrist. Absolutely, he thought as he picked up his keys and turned out the living room lights. He should just think about something else, he decided as he closed and locked his front door.

 

Yeah, right, like that was going to happen.

 

 ******

 

The police cordon was still in place around the small restaurant as Harry approached the scene. He scoped out the area and noted three constables standing near the alleyway to the back of the buildings. They were chatting but Harry presumed they were guarding the direct entrance to the kitchen.

 

He stepped quickly into a phone box, which smelled distressingly of urine, and pretended to make a phone call as he watched the activity around _All Thai’d Up_. Just then, Larry stepped out of the building arguing with a severe-looking man in his forties. Harry supposed he was one of the special team to investigate the death – he vaguely recalled they were something like the C.I.D. from that old police programme Ron liked to watch for some reason.

 

Poor Larry, Harry thought, as the man was led away by a uniformed officer. A loud rapping sound made him jump.

 

“You act-chu-ally gonna make a call, pal? Some of us have stuff to do.” A surly, suspicious-looking man growled at him through the Plexiglas.

 

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered as he fumbled to put the phone back on the receiver and bundled himself out of the phone booth. The last thing he needed was to alert the police to his presence by starting a street brawl he was certain to lose of he couldn’t use magic. He was fairly sure the man wasn’t going to be using the phone box for making a phone call, to be honest.

 

He walked away a little and tried to think how to get closer to find out what had happened. He could try a Disillusionment charm but people would still likely see his outline if he moved too quickly. He wished he’d thought to bring his invisibility cloak but he supposed it wouldn’t do for a Muggle to catch sight of him vanishing into thin air anyway.

 

He spotted a small group of middle-aged women sitting outside a nearby café and pointing over at the restaurant and talking amongst themselves.

 

Maybe he could get the information he needed another way.

 

He headed towards the café and part of him jumped for joy as he heard a familiar voice.

 

“It were awful, Jess. I was just going in to deliver their letter I’d been sent by mistake and, blimey, I thought I was gonna drop right there myself!”

 

The gossiping witness from the radio was still at it. Harry suppressed a smile and hurriedly entered the shop to order a tea. He took his drink outside and sat at another of the tables with his back to the chattering woman but close enough he could hear everything she was saying.

 

“Right awful that is, Sharon, right awful,” said Jess, who was clearly waiting for more information.

 

“And the strangest bit was the look on ‘is face. Right terrified ‘e looked, poor kid.”

 

“Mmmm,” Jess replied. “You, eh, you know what got took?”

 

Harry could practically hear the smugness in Sharon’s voice when she spoke next. “As it ‘appens, I do!”

 

“Well, go on then! What was it?”

 

“Right strange, mind, what was took…”

 

“Oh, come on Shazza!” Jess cajoled. “Tell me already!”

 

“Apparently what they took was some dirty champagne glasses and unwashed napkins! Loads of ‘em!” Sharon announced triumphantly.

 

“What?” Jess sounded incredulous. “That’s rubbish. Who’d murder someone for that unwashed glassware? ‘ow’d you know it were dirty anyway?”

 

Sharon seemed less sure this time but grew more confident as she spoke. “Well, uh, you know Terry were lying beside the sink and all. The rest of the stuff weren’t washed yet, were it?”

 

Harry had heard enough. He looked up at the restaurant again and his insides turned cold.

 

Terry Freeman was standing at the edge of the police cordon, staring right at him.

 

Harry blinked and Terry had disappeared.

 

He left his cold, undrunk cup of tea on the table and left as quickly as he could without being noticed.

 

This was getting really weird.

 

***** 

 

Much later, Harry lay on his couch in his pyjamas, his duvet wrapped around him. He chewed his lip as he stared into the heatless fire. He’d lit it to prevent anyone from Flooing in unannounced. He really didn’t feel up to the company.

 

He was _sure_ he’d seen Terry outside the restaurant. But that was impossible. Terry had been killed and Muggles didn’t become ghosts in the sense that wizards and witches did.  

 

He screwed his eyes closed again and tried to stifle his rising panic. It wasn’t happening again. It couldn’t be. He was doing so much better now!

 

He wasn’t going mad.

 

The silence in the room was broken only by the creak of the floorboards from the flat upstairs as one of his neighbours got up to go to the toilet.

 

Harry let out a slow, shuddering sigh and opened his eyes. How could he go from being so happy with Severus this morning to feeling so wretched now?

 

The iron-tang of blood hit his tongue and he realised he’d bitten through his lip. He sat up slowly and wiped some of the blood away with his hand.

 

He should probably tell Hermione. He’d promised her he would let her know if anything like this happened again. But it was probably nothing. He was tired and stressed and feeling bad for Larry and Terry. Oh, god, poor Terry.

 

He glanced at the clock. The Snitch on the outside ring, which actually told the time, sat over 4am. God, he’d done it again – he’d totally spaced out for hours. He shook his head roughly and extinguished the fire wordlessly before standing, still wrapped in his blanket.

 

He remembered that Severus was coming round later tonight. He’d better try and get some sleep and tidy up before that. There was no reason to have anyone worry about him.

 

He was going to be fine. He just needed to sleep.

 

 


	5. The Forgotten Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus visits Harry at his flat after their first date. Harry's a bit out of sorts. Severus does his best to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist. All characters engaging in sexual relations are over 16 years of age.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for a slight delay. Muses and life got in the way. Smut again. Hope you enjoy it. I meant to get to the Burrow in this chapter but the smut took over.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments! Any criticism is welcome too!  
> C.O.

Severus stood impatiently outside the door to Harry’s flat, a bag of Indian takeaway clutched in his left hand and a sour expression on his face.

 

“Come on, Potter; open the door for Merlin’s sake.”

 

He had been waiting for a few minutes since he hand given the door a firm and loud knock and Severus did not like waiting. He had decided against Flooing into Harry’s place because the forceful nature of the travel and surrounding soot tended to turn anything edible into gritty, pulverised slop and he was rather hungry tonight.

 

Instead, he had Apparated close to the takeout shop and, because Harry had anti-Apparition wards set on his flat (to keep out the hordes of well-wishers, Severus presumed), had walked the rest of the way to Harry’s flat. It was unseasonably chilly for April in London and he hadn’t worn anything more than a light jacket over his shirt. He would need more Muggle clothes if Harry insisted on eschewing the Wizard social life so. Tailoring charms could only o so much and transfigured clothing felt definitively off after a few wears.

 

He huffed indignantly and banged on the door again. A door opened upstairs and a cigarette-hoarsened gravelly female voice called out, “Stop that racket! Bloody kids making noise at all hours! I’ll call the police!”

 

Just before Severus shouted back and got into a full-blown flight with, what was likely an infirm elderly woman, Harry’s door cracked open. Severus saw Harry’s messy hair and a peek of his bespectacled eyes before the door was thrown open.

 

“Oh, shit, Severus!” Harry cried. “Oh, my god, is it so late already? I am so sorry! I must have fallen asleep or something; come in. God, sorry about the mess I meant to tidy before you came.”

 

Severus faltered; his annoyance dissipating like steam. Harry looked awful. He was barefoot but dressed in the same pyjamas Severus had seen the morning before but they were extremely crumpled; a dark shadow of stubble told Severus that Harry had neglected to shave since yesterday, and his hair was as riotous as Severus had ever seen it. He looked exhausted and definitely not as though he’d been asleep.

 

Harry was now hurrying around the small flat picking up books and newspapers and straightening cushions. The duvet from the bedroom was dumped on the floor in front of one of the settees and a book was lying on the coffee table with a Muggle pen beside it.

 

“I can’t apologise enough, Severus. How long were you waiting?” Harry kept rushing around as he spoke and he flicked his wand, sending the duvet back to the bedroom.

 

Severus stepped further into the flat and placed the bag of food on the ledge of the kitchen hatch.

 

“What is wrong?”

 

Harry stopped abruptly. “What do you mean? Want some wine? I’ll get the plates.”

 

The fake nonchalance reignited a spark of ire in Severus belly. Harry had resumed his fussing in the kitchen this time and was noisily collecting the crockery.

 

“Harry-“

 

“Table or trays? I think table. I’ll be put a warming charm on the food and get dressed and-“

 

Severus pinned Harry to the spot by grasping Harry’s shoulders and turning him round to face him. “Stop,” he said with hushed finality.

 

Harry blinked up at him owlishly and Severus easily read the apprehension in the younger man’s eyes. Now he was closer, he could see that Harry’s lip looked sore and swollen. He’d bitten through it.

 

Harry’s thoughts appeared to have frozen and the nervous release of magical energy was pulsing out of him, making the plates rattle on the counter.   Severus relaxed his grip slightly and rubbed Harry’s left arm with his hand. “Tell me what is wrong,” he said gently but resolutely, “Please?”

 

The ‘please’ seemed to startle Harry back into life and then he slumped. “It’s nothing, I just… couldn’t sleep.”

 

“That much is obvious,” Severus replied dryly.

 

Harry managed a chuckle and Severus had to ignore the warmth he felt flare in his heart. “I suppose it is,” he sighed. “I was doing some reading.” His eyes flicked, briefly, towards the open book on the coffee table between the sofas and he hesitated for a second too long. “I… I had an argument with Ron.”

 

Severus didn’t quite believe that was all that was the matter but wasn’t sure how much it was worth pursuing at that moment. “What did Weasley do now? Breed?”

 

Harry frowned. “Nothing, just-“

 

“There seems to be a lot of nothing right now,” Severus intoned monotonously. Harry squirmed and Severus released his shoulders. He leaned back on the opposite counter and folded his arms.

 

“I asked him for help with something and he basically blew me off,” Harry shrugged. Then he blushed and then grimaced at the words. “Not in… you know, _that_ way.”

 

Severus smirked, mostly at the memory of Wednesday night, but also at Harry’s train of thought. What a dirty mind he had…

 

“I’ve been a bit out of sorts. I have been out, though,” he said quickly. “I haven’t just stayed in, _pining_ , since you left,” Harry added with a cheeky grin.

 

Severus nodded briskly, glad that Harry seemed to be feeling a little better now.

 

“I would not tolerate any other behaviour in a consort.”

 

Harry snorted and laughter erupted from within him like a geyser. It relaxed his face and he looked his actual age. Severus suddenly felt old.

 

“Consort, eh?” Harry snickered. “All right, then, consort. Why don’t I go get dressed and you can reheat the dinner?”

 

Severus caught Harry’s hip as he passed and spun him round.   “Hmm, it would seem a an awful waste for you to get dressed just for me to remove the clothes later on…”

 

Harry laughed again and it sounded like music to Severus’ ears. “I’ve been wearing these pyjamas for nearly an entire day. They’re getting funky.” He gave Severus a peck on the lips and then pulled away.

 

Harry left the room he called over his shoulder, “Warming charm, Sev! I don’t like cold curry!”

 

Severus glowered and muttered under his breath.

 

“And I need a cold shower.”

 

 

 

It was a freshly shaved and dressed Harry who joined Severus on the sofa where he was reading one of the murder mystery books Harry had recently acquired. Harry was grateful to see the book he’d been reading and making notations in was untouched on the other side of the table.

 

He was touched that Severus seemed to have respected his privacy but cursed himself for forgetting to put it away before he left the room. He leaned forward and closed the book and moved to settle back. He was met with an arm around his shoulder as Severus continued to read. He felt exceedingly happy at the small gesture.

 

“Are you enjoying ‘ _Enemies of the Past_ ’?” Harry asked casually as he reached his left hand up to touch Severus’ own, which rested on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“The writing leaves much to be desired but the storyline is intriguing,” Severus replied without lifting his eyes from the page. “As far as I can tell the main characters have shared an unhappy acquaintance with each other but come together to solve a murder. And there is a cat. For some reason.”

 

Harry snickered. “Just wait until you get to the sex scene.”

 

Severus turned to face him, uncertain. “You are joking?”

 

Harry simply grinned in reply and squeezed the other man’s hand before standing up. “Dinner time, I think?”

 

“What? You cannot just ignore that! You have to tell me!”

 

“Read the book then,” Harry answered baldly. “I think white wine with curry, yeah? Sorry I don’t have beer in.”

 

The rewarmed curry turned out to be extremely palatable and Harry listened keenly as Severus described his plans for his Owl Order potions business. It seemed that he had a few loyal and, apparently, wealthy customers who mainly supported the operation but that the order from St Mungo’s for Blood Replenishing Potion might just be the start of a more profitable endeavour. Harry had almost totally forgotten about the events of Thursday and the concern with regards to his sanity.

With dinner finished, they retreated to the comfier sofas with their wine. It occurred to Harry that the scene was very domesticated and also how short a time he had spent with the other man. Could it really only have been two days? He leaned back into the corner of the couch and pulled he legs up in front of him.

 

Severus crossed his legs and silence settled over them for the first time since Harry had opened the door.

 

“Umm, thanks,” Harry said, trying desperately to find something, anything to say to keep the conversation going. “For dinner, I mean. So, yeah.”

 

He smiled nervously and then concentrated on his wine glass, swirling the pale liquid around the glass slowly.

 

Severus’ hand came to rest on Harry’s foot and Harry looked up, over the rim of his glasses. He wasn’t close enough to see any detail on the other man’s face but he heard a conspicuous change in his breathing. Harry’s stomach tightened in anticipation.

 

He didn’t have to wait for very long. Severus plucked the wine glass from his hand and shifted closer on the settee. “You are rather tucked away in that corner, Harry.”

 

Harry shivered at the velvety smoothness of that voice. Right then, he was fairly sure Severus could read him _Hogwarts: A History_ and he’d be hooked.

 

He unfolded his legs and Severus moved even closer. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat and he tilted his head as thin yet pliable lips descended upon his own. He opened his mouth and savoured the taste of Severus’ wine-coated mouth and tongue on his own.

 

Severus stretched out on top of him, cupping the back of his head with one hand whilst the other set to opening the button on Harry’s jeans. Harry gripped the other man’s shoulders and moaned.

 

“Hmm, Severus, god yes,” he hissed. Above him, Severus groaned and Harry realised he might have let that one slip out in Parseltongue. The ability had initially disappeared after he’d defeated Voldemort but had slowly returned, not totally to Harry’s liking. However, it did seem to have its advantages…

 

“You like it when I speak in Parseltongue?” Harry susurrated, again, in the snake language, against Severus’ ear. He got his answer in the form of a rough kiss and a thrust of hips into his own.

 

Harry wrapped his leg around Severus’ hip and thrust upwards. Severus was hard against his groin and Harry was desperate to feel the offending erection in his hand; under his tongue; moving in and out of him…

 

He grabbed Severus’ hips and broke the kiss to look him straight in the eyes. “Bedroom. Lube. Right now.”

 

Severus merely held out a hand and a second later a small bottle slapped into his outstretched hand. Harry was graced with a raised eyebrow and he rolled his eyes.

 

“Very clever. Now, get your trousers off so I can give you a blow job before you fuck me,” Harry commanded.

 

Severus almost dropped the bottle in his shock but recovered quickly and with a low growl he yanked Harry’s jeans down his legs as he moved off the sofa. He made similar speedy work of his own slacks as Harry pulled off his t-shirt and socks. Severus unbuttoned and dropped his shirt to the floor whilst Harry slid onto the floor to kneel in front of Severus for the first time.

 

He looked up, through dark eyelashes, at the other man, who reached down and cupped his chin briefly. “You do not have to,” Severus whispered, though his voice caught in his hoarse throat.

 

Harry didn’t feel he needed to reply to that particular nonsense and, instead, softy pressed a kiss to the head of Severus’ penis before taking a moment to regard it. It was longer than Harry’s, very slightly, but around the same width. Slimmer than some he’d seen but Harry felt that perhaps this one was actually the most perfect he could remember. The head was weeping slightly and Harry couldn’t resist licking it before taking the tip into his mouth.

 

Severus let out a low, long groan above him and a hand came to rest on his hair. Harry took this as a sign to continue and placed his hands on the slim hips whilst he adjusted his angle to allow him to take in more of the man in front of him.

 

He swirled his tongue and sucked and Severus seemed to melt. Harry moved his right hand to cup Severus’ heavy sack and then he hummed. Suddenly the hand was pulling at his hair and another hand was tugging at his shoulder.

 

He drew back and stared up. Severus pulled him forcibly to his feet and dragged him close.

 

“Did I…”

 

“Nothing wrong,” Severus muttered hastily and kissed him. “Too close. If I’m going to fuck you.”

 

Harry whimpered and was swiftly spun around and pulled back against Severus so that he could feel the other man’s damp erection between his buttocks. One hand clasped his chest possessively as the other came to hold his erection, tugging at it slowly and softly. It was maddening!

 

“I’m going to bend you over and take you, Harry,” the honeyed voice whispered wickedly into his ear.

 

“Please, yes…” he gasped, “oh, yes!”

 

He was rewarded with a hard squeeze to his shaft and Severus moved them over the edge of the nearest couch. He re-summoned the lubrication, sniffed it, and poured a generous helping onto his fingers.

 

“Strawberry, Harry? My, my…”

 

Somehow, even though he was bent over the arm of his settee (which had likely belonged to his grandparents) with his legs spread, about to be royally and excellently fucked by his ex-teacher, Harry’s cheeks still managed to muster an embarrassed blush.

 

He wasn’t given a chance to defend himself, though, before a fruit-scented, well-lubricated finger breached his entrance. “Ungh,” he managed to utter.

 

Severus bent over him and placed soft kisses on Harry’s shoulder blades as he continued to prepare him. After what felt like forever, Harry panted, “God, Severus, I’m definitely bloody well ready!”

 

The fingers withdrew, leaving Harry feeling empty and desolate. Until he felt what they’d been preparing him for nudge at his anus.

 

Severus had obviously prepared himself with the lubrication whilst Harry was otherwise occupied. Harry relaxed and the head of Severus’ penis entered him easily. Severus paused, hands on Harry’s hips and breathing hard. Harry couldn’t help but thrust backwards slightly and the other man groaned.

 

“Merlin, you’re going to kill me,” he growled but pushed forwards more. Eventually, he was fully seated within Harry and he paused again to allow Harry to adjust.

 

This was completeness, Harry decided. He had been a jigsaw with a missing piece his entire life and here it was in the form of Severus and his marvellous member. Severus started to move, slowly and gently at first but with greater confidence as they continued. He was making tantalisingly obscene noises behind Harry.

 

He brushed Harry’s prostate and Harry had to bite his hand to stop himself screaming. He definitely didn’t want old Mrs Nehls up the stairs to come knocking on his door. Again.

 

Soon, Harry felt the familiar tightening in his lower abdomen and he reached down to touch himself. His hand was batted away and Severus curled his hand around him, keeping his hand in time with his thrusts.

 

“Going to come so deep inside you, Harry,” he stated, though his voice wobbled slightly.

 

Harry just nodded and turned his head. Severus met him in a searing kiss as Harry found his release over Severus long, pale fingers. One, two more thrusts from Severus with no break in the kiss was all it took for Harry to feel warmth within him. They kissed gently and slumped over the arm of the sofa, spent and sated.

 

Neither noticed the Weasley family picture on the mantelplace where Harry’s image had buried his scarlet face in his hands as the Weasleys had either turned away in horror or, in Molly’s case, fainted.

 

 

 

 

“Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger.”

 

“I hope you do not speak as such in front of the child,” Severus said drolly from the bed.

 

Harry threw him a glare over his shoulder as he struggled to pull his trousers on. He stumbled slightly and fell sideways with a bang. “SHIT!”

 

The sound of chuckling brought him straight back up again, now with fastened trousers. “Laugh all you want but it won’t get you any more blow jobs,” Harry threatened.

 

“Let me express my deepest disappointment,” Severus said, and smirked at Harry who was now pulling on his shirt and blushing furiously.

 

“You seemed to enjoy it at the time,” he muttered. “I can’t believe I’m going to be late to get Teddy. How could I have slept in? Andromeda’s going to be furious.”

 

“You had not slept in more than a day from my observations and, of course, I am an extremely proficient lover,” Severus deadpanned. Harry became, if possible, even redder and the blush spread over his neck as he pulled on his socks and shoes. “You’re exhaustion was inevitable. Also, you aren’t meant to collect the boy until 10:30, correct? It is just gone 09:50 - you _are_ a wizard, yes? Apparition is instantaneous.”

 

“We’re meant to leave Dromeda’s by 10:30,” Harry replied, harried and flustered. “You have no idea how long it takes four year olds to get ready to go out, do you? Teddy takes at least 15 minutes to put on a coat!”

 

Severus rolled his eyes and got up. “Do not be so dramatic.”

 

“I’ll give you dramatic,” Harry murmured under his breath and went into the living room. “Bloody great bat robes and he calls _me_ dramatic.”

 

Harry flicked the kettle on with his wand and hurriedly banished the remnants of last night’s dinner. He set the dishes to wash and dry themselves as he picked up Severus’ shirt.

 

The other man strolled calmly into the room, wearing only his trousers. Harry thrust the shirt into Severus’ hands and continued to straighten things out. He paused to look at the picture of the Weasleys and himself. His own image was glaring at him furiously and none of the Weasleys would meet his eyes. How odd.

 

He shook his head and carried on. “Help yourself to some breakfast if you want,” he told Severus as he reached for his jacket. “Are you Apparating or Flooing home? It’s likely I’ll have to head straight to the Burrow with how long Teddy takes and I could leave the keys and just Alohamora the door when I get back with Teddy if-“

 

His rambling was halted by a deep kiss. Severus stepped back, leaving Harry feeling dazed.

 

“What was that for?” He asked when he’d remembered how to speak.

 

“You were rambling and you will be late. Just lock the door and I shall Floo home.”

 

Harry was oddly disappointed at the response. Some part of him wanted for Severus to stay. It would be awkward with Teddy, who would be taking the bed (which reminded him that he needed to change the sheets), and couldn’t keep anything to himself if his toy wolf depended on it. Harry definitely wasn’t sure how he was going to tell his friends and surrogate family he was having sex (in a relationship?) with Severus Snape – greasy potions M but still – Harry thought it might be nice.

 

He shrugged it off mentally and smiled softly at Severus. “How’s next Tuesday for you?”

 

Severus seemed to hesitate for one moment but then nodded.

 

“Perfectly acceptable.”

 

 

 

Harry plastered on a smile, belying his guilt as he waited for Andromeda to open her door. It was ten minutes past ten and Harry’s nerves were dangling by a thread as he awaited Andromeda’s reaction to his tardiness. He hadn’t been able to resist a few final kisses and a grope with Severus and had almost Splinched himself in his haste to Apparate to the nearest safe point to where Teddy and Andromeda stayed.

 

Dromeda asked so little of Harry who desperately wanted to give more. He was determined to give his godson the childhood he had never had and tended to spoil Teddy rotten whenever he had a chance. He generally looked after Teddy about once or twice a month to give his grandmother a break and he was desperate to prove to her he could be a responsible godfather.

 

Andromeda was all too aware of Harry’s on-going dips into lethargy and depression. She’d seen him at his worst and Harry was just glad Teddy was too young to remember those years.

 

The door suddenly opened to reveal a stormy-faced Andromeda. Harry gulped.

 

“Hi, Andromeda! I’m-“

 

“Don’t you ‘Hi Andromeda’ me, Harry Potter! You are late!”

 

Harry quailed under her steely, dark gaze. Suddenly he remembered that Andromeda had been born to the Black family.

 

“I know,” he said quickly, “and I’m really, really sorry! I didn’t sleep much the day before and I must have… forgotten my alarm. I’m sorry.”

 

The older woman seemed to soften at this and her eyes became warmer. Harry followed her into the house after she summoned him with a wave of her hand and he saw Teddy’s small overnight bag with a picture of a Chameleon on it. Harry had seen it one afternoon in a Muggle shop and had insisted to Hermione they stop and get it.

 

“I’ll get him ready, Dromeda,” Harry said, contritely. “I really am so-OOPH!”

 

A small, purple-haired missile had launched itself straight into Harry’s legs, colliding precariously close to Harry’s groin.

 

“Harry! Harry, you’re here, you’re here! Have you seen my hair, Harry?! Have you? Purple’s my new favourite colour because Percy the Pygmy Puff from my book is purple. Could you get a Pygmy Puff, Harry? Grandma says I’m not allowed one but they’re amazing! Percy’s brilliant at making friends! I want to be good at making friends! Please, Harry!”

 

Harry took a deep breath to try to calm the ache in his nether regions before kneeling down to meet Teddy eye to eye. Teddy seemed to gain more and more energy and enthusiasm for life in general as he discovered more of it. He was devouring books at an alarming rate – the current one being ‘ _Percy the Pygmy Puff and the Fountain of Friendship’._ Yet, somehow, still found time to run around causing havoc.

 

“Hi, Teddy – you’re hair looks great!” Harry gushed, keen to encourage his godson’s inquisitive and loving nature. He knew he was going to end up with a Pygmy Puff even if he didn’t really want a pet – there was no way he could say no to Teddy. “Maybe we can go look tomorrow? We’re going to Granny Molly’s today.”

 

Teddy looked briefly disappointed but brightened significantly at hearing they were going to the Burrow.

 

“Why don’t you get your jacket and shoes and we can get going? Leave Grandma to it, eh?” Harry nudged Teddy towards the stairs, which the youngster took two at a time in his excitement.

 

Harry stood and looked up at Andromeda again who was giving him an exasperated smile.

 

“You spoil him,” she said, fondly.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “I just want him to be happy.”

 

“And what about you, Harry? Who was it that caused you to ‘sleep in’ today?” Andromeda enquired knowingly. Her eyes twinkled teasingly.

 

Harry flushed from his neck upwards. “Shouldn’t you get ready to go, Dromeda?” he asked, avoiding her eyes.

 

Andromeda let out a ringing laugh and Harry’s cheeks burned furiously.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“You need to wear a higher collar to hide _that_ ,” she said and pointed towards a love bite on Harry’s neck. Harry rushed to the hall mirror, which wolf-whistled at him.

 

“Oh, god…”

 

“Oh, Harry – it’s okay for you to be with someone as long as they make you happy. He makes you happy, yes?”

 

His friend gave him a concerned look and Harry smiled reassuringly back at her as Teddy raced down the stairs. Obviously his desire to see the Weasleys again was enough to overcome his general reluctance to do what was asked of him in a timely manner.

 

As Teddy grabbed his bag and then Harry’s hand, keen to get going, Harry smiled softly.

 

“Yeah, Dromeda,” he sighed. “He does. He really does.”


	6. The Family Dramas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus leaves Harry's flat to go home and finds a visitor. Harry takes Teddy to the Burrow for Molly Weasley's Family day. As expected, nothing really goes smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
> A bit more Severus and Harry at the Burrow.
> 
> Thanks again to all commenters and Kudos-givers. I hope this reads okay.  
> C.O.

Severus, in fact, had not left Harry’s flat straight away. He sat at the small dining room table, long fingers in a steeple under his chin and elbows resting on the table.

 

He needed to think.

 

And he was brooding. Severus was well aware of this, but as he understood, brooding was not something one could easily prevent oneself from doing once started.

 

He had just spent another, admittedly glorious, night with Harry. With Potter, he corrected himself. It had been wonderful – kissing him, fucking him… just holding him.

 

This last was extremely concerning to Severus. He was not supposed to become emotionally attached. Not allowed to do so.

 

But, when he was with Harry, all those rules seemed so fly out the window like owls on a mission. He looked into Harry’s eyes — so much like Lily’s but subtly different with the dark and gold flecks all his own – and felt a welcoming peace. And with that peace came guilt, remorse, and anger – the same he had been carrying for the last 21 years.

 

Harry seemed to forgive Severus all his past transgressions so easily, almost too easily. He was truly a remarkable young man.

 

And Severus did not deserve remarkable.

 

Harry was everything Severus had thought he was not and very little like he had believed — apart from being reckless. Severus was sure he was correct in that respect.

 

Something insidious and deeper than he’d probed concerned him about Harry’s demeanour on Severus’ arrival last night. But he refused to allow himself to think more about it. This was, obviously, a transient dalliance. It had to be.

 

Severus sighed and put his head in his hands. This was getting far too complicated.

 

He stood and moved towards the fireplace, intending to Floo home. He needed time to collect his thoughts and he was unsure he would be able to do so before Tuesday. He should really stop seeing the younger man – it would make things so much easier.

 

But he didn’t want to. This was his last thought before calling out the name if his home and he exited via the Floo, ‘ _Enemies of the Past’_ clutched in his hands.

 

****** 

 

Severus stepped out of his fireplace and was greeted by the sight of Draco Malfoy lounging elegantly on his couch and looking through his post.

 

“Really, Severus,” Draco drawled, condescendingly. “Illegal potions? What _would_ Mother say? I hope this Castillo fellow is paying you a Goblin’s fortune in gold for some of these.”

 

Severus sneered at the younger man, who smirked widely in reply.

 

“Those are private letters, Draco,” he said grabbed the sheets of parchment from Draco’s hand roughly. “Please do desist from reading my post, if you would.”

 

He glanced at the top letter, a request for a barely legal potion from his regular customer, before folding it up and putting it into the back pocket of his trousers. He sent the others to his desk with a flick of his wand where they stacked themselves neatly.

 

Draco raised a sleek blonde eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s got up your robes, Severus?” he asked, archly. “Or trousers, I should say. What, or who perhaps, has prompted this change of attire? You look rather good out of the robes. I approve.”

 

Severus ignored him. He hadn’t expected Draco to drop by. The boy had not visited him since his father had relinquished his rights to the Malfoy estate when Draco reached the age of 21. Lucius and his wife had, of course, retained a small (meaning substantial, in Severus’ mind) quarter of the Malfoy inheritance, but the aim was to aid Draco in resurrecting the Malfoy name in proper society. As far as Severus knew Malfoy Sr. and his wife spent most of their year in the Wizarding Riviera in France.

 

It was felt, likely correctly, that Draco would be seen as a more moderate voice in the Wizarding community. Lucius had avoided Azkaban through exposing his fellow Death Eaters, yet again, and his last minute defection to the Light, a fact that irked Severus to no end.

 

“What, exactly, are you doing here, Draco?” Severus asked, impatiently.

 

Draco remained placid and replied knowingly, “I’m here to invite you to my wedding.” He held out a cream-coloured envelope. “Now what could possibly have kept you out all night? I do wonder...”

 

“That’s enough, Draco,” Severus said, shortly. “It is none of your business who-“

 

“Aaah,” Draco interrupted, jubilantly. “You admit it was a ‘who’.”

 

Severus cursed himself for letting such a vital bit of information pass his lips. “Leave it, Draco,” he said curtly.

 

The younger man’s smirk widened. “Okay, Severus. But perhaps you could deign to give me a response as to whether you will be attending my nuptial celebrations with a plus one? Or will we be sitting you at the singles table with Aunt Mildred and Astoria’s Uncle Agapanthus who has an affinity for ducks?”

 

Draco frowned for a second, appearing unsettled, before giving himself a shake and smirking back up at Severus and holding out the envelope again.

 

Severus scowled and snatched the envelope from Draco. He hated being one-upped by his former students, even if he had taught them everything they knew about societal interactions and sarcasm. He put down the novel he’d been clutching possessively and regarded the looping writing on the envelope with some distaste.

 

_Prof. Severus T. Snape and plus one?_

 

He clenched his jaw and paused, irked by the impertinent question mark. He had a sudden urge to bring Potter along just to wipe the smug look from Draco’s face. Could he ask Harry to accompany him to any social engagement let alone a Malfoy wedding? He didn’t want to contemplate the possible repercussions or Harry’s reaction to such an invite at this point. Wait, what was he even thinking? The thing with Harry could _never_ be serious.

 

“I shall let you know in due course,” he said as he split the wax seal on the envelope.

 

He skimmed the invitation and frowned at the proclaimed date for the wedding. 31st July. Of course, Harry’s birthday. How… convenient.

 

It had, of course, become a Wizarding holiday since Harry’s second defeat of Voldemort; for most it was a day of celebrations centring on Harry. It was felt to be distasteful for most to celebrate on the actual date of the Battle itself.   Why wouldn’t Draco want to appropriate the celebrations for his own? He had certainly matured somewhat since his experiences in the war but still clung to some vestiges of his rivalry with Harry.

 

Severus suspected he always would. Severus still harboured his own grudges, even if most of those he had held them against were now dead. Which made this whole situation with Harry even more problematic.

 

He was getting a headache.

 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Merlin, if this didn’t drive him to drink he really wasn’t sure what would. Give him a room full of Death Eaters for him to spy on any day over navigating the world of social niceties and relationships…

 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Draco’s amused drawl.

 

“My word, Severus! Reading Muggle crime fiction now, are you? What in Merlin’s name possessed you?” Draco gave him a knowing look and went back to perusing the back cover of Harry’s novel. Severus felt a heated, unwelcome surge of possessiveness and scowled more deeply.

 

“It _must_ be love,” Draco snickered.

 

Severus actually growled and tore the book from Draco’s gaze. The grey eyes glinted at him in wicked mirth as Severus spoke.

 

“Get. Out. Draco.”

 

Draco’s ringing laugh followed him all the way out the Floo.

 

****** 

 

The Burrow was always a veritable hive of activity on a Saturday. It was the day of the week that Molly Weasley had designated as ‘Family Day’ ever since the wind-up of the war. Most of her surviving children (and now grandchildren) had spread to the four quarters of the UK and beyond and Molly was not one to tolerate Empty Nest Syndrome quietly. Harry suspected the standing weekly invitation (and subsequent nagging if one didn’t attend) was part of Molly’s grieving process for Fred.

 

Harry had been guilty far too often recently of dodging the visits entirely. He felt bad for not making the time to see his surrogate mother more often but the Saturday gatherings brought their own set of problems for Harry.

 

Although Ron, Ginny, and Hermione (and Molly too, Harry had to admit) insisted that there were definitely no hard feelings nor any resentment, from anyone in the Weasley family, towards Harry for his failed relationship with Ginny and subsequent outing, Harry couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t entirely forgiven.

 

He knew he was likely being dreadfully unfair to Molly and her brood but his sense of unease and shame refused to abate, no matter how many times he was told otherwise. Much of this, Harry supposed was because he hated to disappoint the people he loved and Molly had seemed so keen to officially make him family. He almost wished he’d kept quiet just to have the same thing but knew it wouldn’t have been fair.

 

Ginny was now in a much more settled and happy relationship with one of the mediwizards who worked for the Montrose Magpies. They’d met at a match Ginny had been subbed into after one of the Holyhead Harpies chasers had been taken out by a well-hit bludger. He was Canadian and seemed very charming to Harry.

 

He was brought crashing back to reality by Teddy’s insistent tugging on his hand.

 

“C’mon, Harry! I want to show Victoire my hair!”

 

Gathering Teddy into his arms with a grunt of effort (he was getting so big!), Harry stepped towards the fireplace, shouted a quick goodbye to Andromeda and threw a handful of Floo powder into the hearth.

 

Teddy clasped his small arms around Harry’s neck, grinning ear to ear. “Can I shout it, Harry? Can I?” Harry nodded, indulgently, and Teddy cried out, “The Burrow!”

 

Harry held Teddy tightly to him as images of fireplaces wooshed past them. His ears felt like they were going to pop and Teddy was shouting, “WHEEEEEE!” at the top of his alarmingly loud lungs.

 

Not soon enough, Harry felt them slow down and got ready to step out into the living room of the Burrow.

 

He was greeted with the warm, mouth-watering aroma of gravy and roasting potatoes. The sound of laughter and children playing floated in through the open window and door. A set of knitting needles was clicking over Molly’s rocking chair, crafting an emerald green jumper and Harry imagined he knew what colour his jumper was going to be this Christmas.

 

Teddy fussed at him to be let down and Harry obliged only to have Teddy shoot off out into the garden crying, “Victoire, Victoire? You need to see my hair!”

 

Harry smiled gently at his godson’s antics. He dropped Teddy’s overnight bag onto the worn, overstuffed sofa seconds before Molly Weasley came bustling up to him from outside, clearly alerted by Teddy’s enthusiastic entrance.

 

“Harry, dear! Oh, it’s _so_ good to see you! It’s been too long!” Molly pulled him into a tight embrace and squeezed him to her soft bosom. She pulled back and held him at arm’s length to allow her to survey him properly. “Ooh, but you’re so thin, dear. If you came here more often I’d make sure you were properly fed. And have you been sleeping at all?”

 

She looked up at him, concern clear in her brown eyes, which made Harry feel even more guilt-ridden than normal. He hated to make her worry, another excuse for not attending the Burrow regularly; he knew he looked terrible. He lowered his eyes self-consciously.

 

“I’m fine, Mrs Weasley,” he tried to reassure her half-heartedly. “Really, I am. I’m sorry I’ve not been around.”

 

He didn’t want to make up any excuses or white lies to tell Molly. Apart from not wanting to add to his guilt, she would see right through anything he told her like she was looking through glass. Harry supposed it was a mother thing– being able to spot a fib from fact. It was scary sometimes.

 

To try to avert attention from his malnourishment and sleep deprivation, Harry gestured towards the kitchen. “Would you like any help, Mrs Weasley? It smells brilliant.”

 

“No, no, Harry. And call me Molly for heaven’s sake,” she replied in a kind but teasing tone. “Why don’t you go out to the garden? We’re just waiting for George and Angelina to arrive. The lunch won’t be ready for a while yet.”

 

Harry nodded and made his way outside as Mrs Weasley returned to the stove to fuss over the gravy.

 

The fresh, spring air breathed a sense of calm into Harry as he stepped outside. He saw Teddy and Victoire at the end of the garden – they were holding hands and Teddy was changing the colour of his hair as Victoire shouted out the colours in French and English.

 

The adults were seated on some transfigured lawn furniture and Harry waved at them as he walked towards them.

 

“Harry!” Ron grinned at him and stood to greet him. He pulled Harry into a brief hug and clapped him on the back. “So glad you came, mate,” he whispered in his ear. “She’s getting on at us to have another baby. Hermione just about exploded.”

 

Ron grimaced at the memory of his irate wife and Harry laughed. “Glad to take the pressure off a bit then. Not sure how long it will last, though.”

 

“Think again, mate,” Ron winked at him. “She’s got a surprise for you.”

 

Harry paled and swallowed hard. Oh dear… Harry wasn’t that fond of surprises.

 

Charlie and Bill had joined them and greeted Harry with a handshake each. Fleur waved gracefully at him from her comfy-looking chair, one hand resting on her small baby bump. Percy was sitting with an engrossed Hermione, who was bouncing Rose on her knee. They were likely discussing something Ministry related and Harry made a mental note to keep clear for a bit if he wanted to stay awake long enough for lunch.

 

Ginny was sitting with her boyfriend, Michael, and gave him a cheerful wave before turning back to her beau. She always seemed to lavish more attention on Michael when Harry first arrived and Harry felt a niggling of annoyance at this.

 

Harry glanced around again. “Where’s your dad?”

 

Charlie rolled his eyes and grinned conspiratorially. “Where else? The Shed has been fully refurbished. We’re lucky if he comes out of there before dinner time normally.”

 

Harry laughed as he recalled the small shed that Arthur Weasley used to tinker with his collection of Muggle artefacts. Harry knew for a fact that some of the items Mr Weasley ‘enhanced’ were not particularly legal. Who could forget the flying Ford Anglia?

 

“Right, you lot!” A voice boomed out from behind Harry and he turned. George was skipping down the steps into the garden. “Now the important people are here, we can get this party started! Where’s the Butterbeer?”

 

Angelina Johnson, George’s long-suffering girlfriend, followed behind, shaking her head at George’s antics. Harry thought he was the only one to spot Bill’s worried frown before it was replaced by a jovial and welcoming grin.

 

Harry had a horrible suspicion that George’s effusiveness was really a cover for something else. He greeted George and Angelina automatically and then stepped back, suddenly feeling oddly disconnected.

 

The heavy, aching lump was back again, sitting just behind his sternum. As the Weasley brothers reunited for the week, Harry withdrew silently into himself. He cursed himself for agreeing to come today. He could have just taken Teddy to the park or a Muggle film. The panic rose in him as he realised how many people there were and thought about how they’d be asking him things, wanting to pry into his life, feeling sorry for him…

 

A large hand landed on his shoulder and Harry snapped into awareness. He looked up into the kind face of Mr Weasley who had specks of oil on his face and glasses.

 

“Harry,” he said quietly with a soft smile. “So nice to see you again.”

 

Harry simply nodded, still feeling quite sick.

 

“I’ve been working on a car-burr-ator, for the new car,” Mr Weasley continued, giving Harry’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Would you fancy a look? Help me with the Muggle things.”

 

Harry let out a shuddering breath and smiled gratefully at the older man. He knew that Mr Weasley knew that Harry had no idea about anything to do with cars or engines. The gentle, encouraging gaze in the light blue eyes, so much like Ron’s, soothed him significantly.

 

“Ye-yeah, Mr Weasley,” he said. “That- that sounds good.”

 

After glancing over to make sure Teddy was still okay, he followed Mr Weasley to the shed, feeling infinitely thankful that Arthur had recognised his unease without drawing attention to it.

 

The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene at his first Family Day in months.

 

******

 

“And it was just a complete mess; the dragons were furious,” Charlie said around a mouthful of chicken. “Couldn’t get the smell of burnt cat out of my clothes for weeks!”

 

“Charlie, dear, maybe not at the dinner table?” Molly suggested imploringly. “Or in front of the children?”

 

Everyone’s eyes flicked over to where Teddy and Victoire were sitting at the own small table with plates of finger food and chicken. They were clearly absorbed in whatever conversation they were having in what seemed like their own little language.

 

Charlie frowned. “They’re not listening mum but alright.” He went back to concentrating on his meal, clearly quite unfazed by the notion of cat flambé.

 

Harry smiled into his napkin and pushed the food he had left around on his plate. The food had all been delicious and Harry felt he was full to bursting. He didn’t want to appear rude and was considering banishing the food so Molly wouldn’t be offended.

 

The thirteen adults were sitting outside at the long table; a few magical fires were set close by to keep them warm. Next to Harry, George began regaling the top half of the table with stories from the joke shop and Harry half-listened in. He allowed his gaze to wander around the table. Mrs Weasley was fussing over Ginny’s new, much shorter, haircut and lamenting the loss of her daughter’s flowing red locks.

 

“It’s much more practical for Qudditch, mum!” Ginny replied exasperatedly. Michael took her hand on the table and she calmed a little.

 

Percy was now talking with his father who was sitting on Harry’s other side, about trying to revoke some of the Ministry reforms that restricted certain imports that affected the ability to brew effective Wolfsbane. Harry had just turned his attention towards Percy, keen to find out more about the Werewolf reform sanctions when thought he heard George ask to pass the potatoes.

 

Harry picked up the magically heated casserole dish holding the potatoes and turned towards George; who was still taking about the shop to Ron, Hermione, and Angelina.

 

Harry frowned and went to put the dish down and yelped. The dish clattered to the table and everyone turned to look at him as he leapt up from his seat, knocking it over.

 

Fred Weasley had appeared on the opposite side of the table from Harry. Fred Weasley who had been dead for nearly four years. He was chalk white and staring straight at him. “The potatoes, Harry?”

 

“Harry, dear, what’s wrong? Are you unwell?”

 

Harry ignored Mrs Weasley’s question and closed his eyes, backing further way from the table. He was going to be sick. He couldn’t breathe.

 

He felt a tug on his right hand and flinched away harshly, covering his face. White noise filled his ears and his back teeth seemed to vibrate.

 

_This cannot be happening. No, no. It just can’t. Not now. Not here._

 

“Harry?” Teddy’s quiet voice broke through the haze and Harry looked down at the frightened face of his godson, whose hair was now messy and black. The amber eyes were glassy with building tears. “Harry, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

 

Harry dropped to his knees and pulled Teddy into a tight hug. Teddy clung to him and Harry felt the warm, wetness of the boy’s tears on his neck. The load of all the family staring at him weighed down upon him, even when he closed his eyes again.

 

“Oh, God, Teddy,” he half-sobbed. “I’m sorry. I… I just thought I saw something that gave me a fright.” He rocked the boy softly and vaguely heard Victoire crying in the background as Fleur tried to comfort her.

 

“You’re okay, Harry,” Teddy whispered wetly into his ear. He pulled back and gave Harry a solemn look that reminded Harry so much of Remus that he wanted to weep. “I’ll protect you.”

 

****** 

 

Harry sat on overstuffed couch in the living room of the Burrow clutching a mug of tea, laced with Firewhiskey courtesy of George.

 

He stared into the dark liquid for a few seconds before taking a sip. He winced. George had obviously weighted the ratio of tea to whiskey much more towards the latter.

 

Teddy was taking a nap with Victoire and Rose in the main bedroom and Hermione had politely, but firmly, told most of the Weasleys to stay out of the living room whilst she and Ron talked to Harry.

 

Outside the room, clearly trying to stop Harry from hearing, Mrs Weasley had put up a rather big a fuss, stating loudly that what Harry clearly needed was a mother’s comfort and someone to look after him. Hermione replied that she was, in fact, a mother in case Molly had forgotten, and that she doubted Harry would want to be crowded at that moment.

 

Harry could have kissed her for it.

 

Now, his two best friends were sitting across from him, twin expressions of anxiety and fear on their faces. Harry remained silent and stared into his ‘whisktea’ again. Perhaps the alcohol was working if he could make jokes in his head?

 

Harry snorted and he saw Ron and Hermione exchange a worried look.

 

“Oh, come on, guys,” Harry snapped. “Stop pussy-footing around. I know you have questions. It was nothing, really. Just thought I heard something…”

 

He trailed off but tried to give them a reassuring smile.

 

“Harry,” Hermione started, tentatively. “We’re just concerned. It was like you saw a ghost… or something less common than in the Wizarding world…” Hermione frowned.

 

“Dementor, mate,” Ron intoned. “It was like when the Dementors came the first time. It was scary.”

 

Hermione nodded fervently in agreement. Harry felt the uncomfortable mass in his chest expand and his lungs felt restricted. He swallowed. He could either tell them the truth, causing a lot of painful trauma to be unearthed – and for him be carted off to St Mungo’s most likely. Or he could hide it.

 

Hermione and Ron were two of three people who knew all about his past troubles. They were likely already suspecting a relapse now and if he wanted to minimise the damage he’d have to act quickly. Would they tell him he needed to go to St Mungo’s this time?

 

His gaze landed on the old wizard clock that showed all the Weasley family’s whereabouts instead of the time. Fred’s spoon was framed and hanging next to the clock on the wall, having fallen off when he’d been murdered.

 

Harry clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

 

“I really am okay, guys. All normal in working order up here,” he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, and tapped the side of his head. “Just a shadow, probably. I over-reacted.”

 

His friends looked at each other dubiously. Harry was not easily frightened and when he was, his friends knew that there was definitely something to worry about in the area.

 

Eventually, Hermione nodded, though she still looked anxious. “Okay, Harry. But you know we’re always available if you need us.”

 

“Absolutely,” Ron agreed readily. He sent Harry a cheeky grin and continued, “I suppose the good news is you got out of mum trying to set you up on a blind date, Harry. She’s so worried about you now she forgot all about it!”

 

Harry chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, I suppose there’s a silver lining to every cloud!”


	7. The Intrusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry investigates the mystery that's been plaguing him for the last week whilst Severus finds himself being scrutinised by some old colleagues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, again, for all the lovely comments and for continuing to read. Any and all feedback is welcome. I want to keep getting better.

The rest of Harry’s weekend passed in a blurry haze of reassuring Teddy and his friends that he was, in fact, not losing his mind (something of which he hadn’t quite convinced himself yet), and entertaining his exuberant godson.

 

Harry’s guilt over frightening Teddy with his behaviour turned out to be the major diving force that led them to Diagon Alley’s Magical Menagerie the next day. Teddy had raced around the shop in unconcealed wonder, asking the shopkeeper a relentless string of questions about each different creature.

 

Harry sent the man an apologetic smile and eventually one of the young female shop assistants took the young boy under her wing.

 

Finally, after Teddy had learned more about magical creatures than Harry thought he ever had at school, they left the shop with a wonderfully, and unusually, pink and purple striped Pygmy Puff. Teddy had insisted on naming it Howard – apparently after another character in one of his books. Harry wasn’t inclined to argue.

 

Andromeda gave him a chastising look and exasperated sigh that was tempered only by the sincere fondness radiating from her eyes. After reassuring Teddy that he would definitely be able to see Howard soon and feeling preposterously jealous of the Pygmy Puff for capturing his godson’s attention so avidly, Harry used the Floo to head back home.

 

He rested Howard’s cage on the dining room table and set about putting away all of the supplies the shopkeeper had told him were ‘totally and absolutely necessary for taking proper care of a Pygmy Puff’. Harry couldn’t help but feel he’d been swindled but couldn’t really find the energy to build up any resentment. It had made Teddy so happy and that’s all that mattered to Harry at the time.

 

On his way back to the couch, Harry gently lifted Howard out of his cage. The small, fluffy creature seemed to purr and vibrate pleasantly under his touch. He sat down, slowly and carefully stroking the soft purple-pink fur as he stared off into the middle distance.

 

He let his mind replay the events of the seeming whirlwind of the past few days. He’d gone out to the mouth of hell itself (he was sure), met and had drinks with Severus Snape of all people, ended up sleeping with the man _twice_ , made a complete fool of himself in front of and scaring the wits out of his surrogate family, and seen two dead men in the last five days. And he had a new pet.

 

And he’d thought school had been the craziest time of his life!

 

“I think I’ve finally cracked for good this time, Howie,” Harry said bleakly.

 

Howard cooed in sympathy on his lap and nuzzled his tiny, wet nose into Harry’s jeans. Harry would take comfort wherever he could get it at this point.

 

******* 

 

Harry’s decision to live in Muggle London stemmed from his belief that he could maintain a certain level of anonymity amongst the sprawling streets and expansive, mostly oblivious, populace.

 

If he had chosen to buy a flat in a more conventionally wizarding area, he doubted he would ever be truly free from the hounding of the press. He was too recognisable in places like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade to obtain any sort of true relaxation.

 

Harry enjoyed wandering around the metropolis in relative obscurity. It would likely strike many people as an impersonal city, with its towering skyscrapers and the citizens who avoided eye contact, seemingly, on pain of torture. But Harry liked not being noticed for a change.

 

Which is why he supposed he must have been living under a gross misapprehension for the last three years when he was spotted in the local Muggle library.

 

In a desperate attempt to distract him from his looming insanity, Harry had decided to do some research into local deaths or disappearances that remained unexplained. He reasoned that Terry’s death might not have been a one off, if what Ron had told him the other day about a whole Ministry Department for strange Muggle murders was true. Ron had reluctantly confirmed to him that no Auror investigation into the murder was taking place.

 

Consequentially, Harry thought, it was likely that there must be a host of poorly investigated magical crimes being committed in Muggle cities every day. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement couldn’t possibly have the resources to look into all of them.

 

Harry had asked the confused library assistant for help locating any books on criminology and along with copies of all the local newspapers from the past few months and had regretted it almost immediately. Boxes and boxes of tabloids, broadsheets, and local journals surrounded him (who knew there were so many different news outlets close by?) when he heard his name being called out.

 

_Oh, no…_

He groaned inwardly as Steven Castle, Hermione’s cousin’s partner, waved at him cheerfully. He immediately felt awful for his ill thoughts. Steven wasn’t so bad, really. He just hadn’t expected to be recognised in a small, local library in his borough of London, especially when he’d last seen Steven and Gary halfway across the city.

 

“Hi, there, Harry,” Steven smiled at him easily, showing his perfect white teeth. Harry watched the other man’s eyes dart to the news article Harry was studying. The headline proclaimed the investigation into Terry Freeman’s death was still on going – it had references to some other recent unexplained deaths in the locale, which Harry was dutifully noting down in an attempt to whittle down the sources he needed. He really wished he could ask Hermione for help without making her worry – she really was much better at research than he was.

 

“Wow, that looks like heavy research; special project?” Steven gestured to the paper and boxes.

 

Harry hastily covered up the article with his notepad. No need for anyone to think he was any weirder than they did already, after all.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled. “Just, interest, you know. Nothing major. Sorry, but what are you doing here?”

 

“Oh, Gary’s got some thing at the dance studio next door and I had a day off from the surgery so we thought we’d go for lunch later. I’m just wasting time,” Steven gestured vaguely, ignoring Harry’s rather rude enquiry. “Shame about that Thai place, eh?”

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There was absolutely no reason to be mistrustful of Steven and Gary. They were just two blokes, apparently from the local area, who happened to know one of Harry’s best friends. He supposed the borough wasn’t _that_ big!

 

He nodded, still slightly wary. Steven had most likely seen what he’d been reading. “Yeah, I know the owners. Really nice people.”

 

“Weird, though,” Steven persisted, looking contemplative, “about the whole ‘no marks’ thing. Apparently they’re looking at poisonous gas. Could still be natural causes, I think, but I’m only a dental hygienist. Some people say it’s magic! What a laugh!” Steven shrugged and smirked at Harry conspiratorially. “Well, I’m sure the police will figure it out. I’ll leave you to it, then. See you later!”

 

Harry sent the other man a quick wave. He really hoped Steven didn’t tell Gary what he’d been doing. Gary would inevitable tell Hermione and he’d end up seeing some kind of counsellor for sure.

 

No, what Harry wanted was to not talk about the weird things he’d seen and then they’d go away. Surely?

 

But it was also nagging at him that there was more to Terry’s death than poisonous gas leaks. And what about the robbery? If only he could prove that magic had been involved!

 

His head was aching and he removed his glasses to rub his eyes. God, he was getting paranoid as well as hallucinating now. If only he could prove that magic had been involved! Harry sighed and shook his head before replacing his glasses.

 

He looked at the newspaper again. He knew that magic left invisible signatures when used. He, himself, could often feel other wizards’ magic just by being near them if they were powerful enough. Unfortunately, there was no way he could have gotten near the scene of the crime and any magical signature would be long gone by now, stifled by Muggle interference and natural dissipation.

 

Harry allowed himself a small, private smile when the thought of Severus’ magic crossed his mind. It was warm, earthy, and left a vague taste of treacle on Harry’s tongue. Magical signatures weren’t exactly detectable via the normal five senses. He’d read about people who tasted colours and saw sounds, so he reckoned feeling magic was a bit like that.

 

Maybe he could get Severus to do some magic when they were in bed together next time. The smile turned into a wicked grin.

 

An odd, vibration in his back teeth broke him from his pleasant thoughts. As he rubbed his jaw, he caught a glimpse of a flash out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look quickly in the direction it had come from, keen to catch any would-be magical reporter in the act of spying on him. Was he safe anywhere, he wondered furiously!

 

But there was no one. And none of the other patrons or library staff had seemed the least bit aware that anything remotely like a camera flash or any disturbance at all had occurred.

 

Harry frowned deeply and rubbed his jaw again. The vibrations had stopped. He was just tired, he reckoned, and a bit on edge from the weekend. Harry packed up his notes and writing utensils into his backpack and tidied the boxes around him before checking out two of the books, thanking the assistant and leaving the library for home.

 

There weren’t any overly intrusive acquaintances or reporters at home. He paused briefly, reminding himself to check the windowsill for any nosy looking beetles.

 

 *******

 

The preceding few days had presented an annoying oscillation between being incredibly busy and having nothing to do but think of Potter.

 

Severus huffed impatiently as he stirred the Calming Draft he was brewing for the Madame Pomfrey’s supplies. It was tedious drudgery, which barely maintained his attention long enough to compete a full respiratory cycle.

 

Which meant he had far too much of his brain to commit to thinking about seeing Harry again the next evening.

 

The prospect filled him with a peculiar combination of elation and fear. He had tried throwing himself into his work to avoid paying too much mind to his conflicting whirlwind of thoughts. But when work was more suited to a moderately talented second year, it was difficult to work up any enthusiasm whatsoever, let alone enough to distract him.

 

Minerva had said she would be round to visit him later in the afternoon, ostensibly to collect his finished draughts without the possible paperwork trail of owls. In reality, she likely wanted to nag him about his social life and try to convince him ‘get out more’.

 

‘Oh, if she only knew,’ he thought. If she had known that he’d been extremely sociable recently with her Golden Boy Potter, what _would_ she say?

 

He could imagine her horrified expression of disbelief and disapproval of such a relationship. Severus enjoyed the idea so much that he toyed briefly with just telling her outright.

 

They had managed to rekindle something of their old friendship-come-rivalry despite their estrangement following Albus’ death and Minerva finding out about the whole plan. He was never bored when Minerva visited, mostly because they enjoyed needling each other just the right amount without causing true offence.

 

However, her visit this afternoon was preventing him from brewing a much more interesting, if technically unsanctioned, potion for Castillo.

 

Severus was ultimately grateful to Minerva for being willing to trust him again and he respected her. Though, he was unsure if Poppy Pomfrey was fully aware of where the majority of her well-stocked cupboards came from.

 

As he stirred the potion, he took a moment to wonder at what his life had become. Once, he had longed for acknowledgement of his greater gifts, a spark of recognition of his skill and superiority. Any inkling of the appreciation that he was better – better than his Muggle father had believed him to be, better than James Potter and his cronies.  

 

It was, in part, his desire to prove himself, his own ambition, which had driven towards The Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy had seen his self-loathing and jealousy and had pounced on him like a fox would a rabbit. He had moulded Severus’ young, half-formed mind to his own image, resulting in the inflation of Severus’ ego, the bolstering of his talent and self-belief, but also the loss of his only true friend. Lucius had a talent for spotting how others could be utilised and manipulated and Severus had fallen for his smooth, honeyed words and sweetly poisoned promises.

 

He had wanted acknowledgement and fame and ended up with infamy. He actually desired not to be noticed in public for fear of confrontation and attempted retribution for his acts and his choices. He would be content for the rest of his days in quiet, uninterrupted solitude with his simple potions work to keep his occupied.

 

But then there was Harry, who threatened to upend his entire setup and tip him back into the fire of public scrutiny, just by the fact of who he was. There was any number of reasons for him to not to continue this foolish whimsy with Harry. He couldn’t let it last long, he thought. He should get out whilst he was unscathed.

 

Severus was still airing his thoughts and finishing clearing up his ingredients when the fireplace flared and out stepped Minerva McGonagall, resplendent (if a little dusty) in her customary emerald robes. She cast an effortless cleaning spell before addressing him.

 

“Do you _ever_ clean you Floo, Severus? Or is the soot some kind of obscure ingredient that you’ve not told me about before?”

 

‘Excellent,’ Severus thought and narrowed his eyes in poorly concealed glee. ‘She’s in a fighting spirit today.’

 

“I am a busy man, Minerva, and not all of us are blessed with armies of House Elves to perform our daily chores. _Have_ you heard from Ms. Granger, recently?” Severus said, pointedly.

 

Granger had been badgering the Headmistress for some years now to offer the Hogwarts House Elves everything from weekly salary to pensions and funeral cover. ‘Who’d ever had a funeral for a House Elf?’ Severus scoffed internally. Minerva had been harping on at him the last time they’d met about her latest batch of letters.

 

A sour expression came over Minerva’s face and Severus imagined she was remembering the latest Granger diatribe. It was reassuring to Severus to know that at least some things did not change – in this case, the actions and personality of a precocious know-it-all.

 

“Do you have the potions, Severus?”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “What, no back and forth regarding my extreme lack of a social life? No commentary on my decision to isolate myself ‘in the middle of a godforsaken, barren moor’ I think you called it, this week? Feeling old, Minerva?” he couldn’t help but verbally prod her.

 

“I’ll give you ‘old’, Severus Snape – you’re no spring chicken yourself anymore,” the old bat replied shrewishly. “No, I believe I know enough about your social life to be getting on with, thank you.”

 

_What?_

 

“I beg your pardon?” Severus tried to enquire coolly. Had he been seen with Potter?

 

Minerva gave him a smug smile and he wanted to hex it off her face instantly. “Hmm, yes,” she hummed benignly. “A rather dashing figure you cut in those Muggle clothes, I’m told.”

 

_Oh, shit._

 

Severus could not stop the reflexive swallow. This was not how he’d believed Minerva would react to news of him and Potter being together in any sexual capacity. This was… unsettling.

 

“I was pleased, though, if rather surprised. Not what I had expected at all.”

 

Deeply, _deeply_ unsettling.

 

“I never put you down for blondes, Severus,” Minerva teased.

 

Severus paused momentarily, before exhaling in relief. “When and where exactly was I supposedly seen with a blonde companion, Minerva? And by whom?”

 

Minerva responded blithely, clearly unaware of Severus’ response to her revelation, “It was Tuesday night, dear boy, in Chelsea, I believe. Pomona was meeting her sister-in-law near by. She was gleefully informing us all the other day.”

 

_Oh, thank Merlin – definitely not Potter, then!_

“That was a customer, Minerva,” he said tightly. “Sprout is the biggest gossip at that school barring Poppy Pomfrey and Filius Flitwick. But she requires better resources.”

 

“She saw you exiting his _house_ , Severus!” Minerva exclaimed in glee.

 

“It was a volatile potion,” Severus shrugged, allowing both palms to face the ceiling. “It required hand delivery.”

 

“Oh, well,” Minerva she grumbled as she slumped into one of Severus’ chairs. “Thought we’d got one up on you for once, Severus.”

 

“The entire Hogwarts staff would have to gain espionage skills worthy of someone more skilled than our old friend Mundungus Fletcher before any of you ‘got one’ on me, Minerva,” he replied coldly.

 

“Well, it’s not as if you’re every going to actually _tell_ us about anything that could help make you happy.”

 

“I must and do live with my choices, Minerva – no matter the outcome. I do not need interference from others who believe they think only of my ‘best interests’,” he replied bitterly.

 

She regarded him with something that looked alarmingly like pity. It made Severus’ blood chill in his veins.

 

“You do not have to continue this self-enforced exile, Severus,” Minerva told him, a gentle but condescending tone in her voice.

 

His eyebrows beetled together as he glowered. “Hardly self-enforced, Minerva,” he said harshly, “when one is a reviled and loathed as I.”

 

“You have been exonerated, Severus,” she persevered, halfway between exasperation and sympathy, “you have nothing left to atone for that has not already been officially forgiven. You _are_ allowed to be happy.”

 

Severus refused to meet her gaze. Harry’s face flashed across his mind. He dismissed it, hastily.

 

He wished he could believe her. None of what she said would ever be true. He was, indeed, exonerated but he had still committed the acts of which he was accused.

 

He would always be atoning for something.

 

 *******

 

Harry was practically pulsating with anxiety by the time Tuesday evening was upon him. He had refused to leave his flat in the last 24 hours and instead spent his time pacing the small living space, pretending to read, or rehashing the facts he knew about Terry’s death.

 

He was all too aware of the irony that an amateur murder investigation was the only way to truly prevent him from ruminating over his impending madness.

 

So far all he knew was that Terry had been left to finish washing the dishes after the main restaurant closed. One of the articles had mentioned that Larry had left early but had not stated the reasons why. He also knew that Sharon Williams, a local hairdresser, whom Harry had overheard at the nearby café the morning after the event, had found Terry the next morning. There was no sign of a struggle or any external mark on the body, and the door had seemingly been locked from the inside, but several champagne glasses had been missing from the restaurant supply.

 

Harry was sure that if Jonathon Creek, Sherlock Holmes, and Hercule Poirot had been a real people, they would certainly have been called in to aid the investigation and would still probably have found nothing.

 

He was willing to be his eyeteeth that there was magic behind this.

 

But, why? Harry would sure that Terry was nothing but an ordinary young man with a dream but none of the talent to be a world-renowned chef. What could possibly have been a motive for his murder? He’d seemed so… harmless.

 

The missing glasses confused him. He and Severus had likely been one of many couples toasting their meal with champagne that night, but still, Harry could not shake the feeling this was something to do with them. Or maybe just him? Severus had never been to _All Thai’d Up_ before so it was unlikely anyone would know to look for him there.

 

Had they been followed? Could someone really want to kill an innocent boy to get to him or Severus so badly?

 

‘Of course they could,’ he chastised himself for his naiveté. Hadn’t most of his life been haunted by someone who had done just that?

 

The clock chimed loudly behind him. The Seeker hand had moved to ‘late’ and he cursed under his breath.

 

He gathered his coat and wallet before leaving this flat and sprinting to the nearest safe Apparition point. Sometimes he regretted having such heavy-duty wards around his home but generally he felt they were more than necessary.

 

He reappeared about 100 metres from where he had agreed to meet Severus for a drink. After a lot of prevaricating and Harry being incapable of and refusing to make any kind of decision that could be viewed unfavourably, Severus has sent him a brusque note, simply stating the name of a bar and a time.

 

He ran the last stretch to the Muggle bar, which was located in a small village in Yorkshire. Harry supposed that this must be closer to Severus’ home and his heart skipped a little beat. Could Severus be taking him back to his place later?

 

Harry burst through the front door to the inn and all eyes immediately turned to him. He flushed and reflexively flattened his hair over his scar as he lowered his eyes. It didn’t take him long to spot a stormy-faced Severus Snape sitting in a corner booth, nursing what appeared to be whisky (most likely a very nice one, if Harry had gleaned any knowledge about his ex-Potions Master).

 

Steeling himself for the inevitable scathing remarks and simmering fury, Harry headed towards the table. Severus glared at him. Harry gulped. God, that look sent shivers of both terror and arousal down his spine.

 

“Do not,” Severus growled, “make excuses, Potter.”

 

Never mind making it back to the house, Harry was going to drag the man bodily into the toilets!

 

He plonked down into the bench opposite the other man and remained silent.

 

“You are late,” Severus said deliberately slowly.

 

Harry decided to try to lighten the mood. “I thought I was the obvious one, Severus,” he said with a small smile that he hoped was charming.

 

Evidently, it was not.

 

“I really am sorry, Severus,” Harry sighed. “I lost track of time. No excuse.”

 

Severus was still silent but his facial expression softened marginally – if Harry squinted, tilted his head sideways, and hoped really, really hard. Severus was a stubborn bastard and Harry should have known it would take more time for him to forgive his companion’s lateness. Even if it _had_ only been 10 minutes. Or 15…

 

The disagreeable look on Severus’ face remained throughout the first hour of their night out. Harry had tried everything from subtly buying Severus the most expensive whisky the bar had to asking about his latest potions commissions to outrageous flirting. He was on the verge of outright begging when Severus relented.

 

“Do calm down, Potter, I am now becoming more irritated with your attempts to placate me than your initial transgression,” he said coolly but placed his hand on Harry’s knee under the table. “Whilst I have enjoyed your latter attentions most thoroughly, I ask you to desist less some other customer becomes violently ill at your proclamations.”

 

Harry blushed ferociously but gave Severus a small smile over the rim of his lager. He relaxed until he felt Severus’ hand stray further towards his groin. The older man seemed oblivious to Harry’s discomfiture and continued talking.

 

“Work has been mostly spent baying to the whims of Poppy Pomfrey and her lot of irresponsible children at Hogwarts, so it had been dull to say the least.” The hand crept higher. “However, a number of interesting commissions came through as well.”

 

Harry fought to concentrate on the names of the potions Severus had been asked to make and almost completely glossed over the fact that many of them were straying dangerously close to Dark magic. He placed his own hand over the one on his thigh to halt its wanderings.

 

“Hang on,” he said, “aren’t you worried that some of these are, well, dangerous? Wait, just listen!” Severus had opened his mouth and looked to launching into an irate reply. “I know you can handle them, it’s just that, well, Ron’s told me and I saw an article in the _Prophet_ that they’re looking to crack down on apothecaries and potioneers using certain restricted ingredients. Aren’t you worried you’ll get caught and punished?”

 

Severus’ face took on a sour, pursed-lip mien. He was clearly unimpressed and, more so, aggravated that Harry had brought up this particular issue.

 

“I do my brewing in the cellar of my house,” he replied curtly, lifting his hand out from under Harry’s, “the location of which only two other living people know. It would be rather difficult to perform a raid without my prior knowledge. I have said before that I am merely paid to make the commissions I receive. I have no interest, whatsoever, in how the buyer chooses to utilise their purchases.”

 

From Severus’ tone, the argument was clearly over. Harry sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. He didn’t want to argue with Severus in public and he certainly hadn’t meant for their night out to be compromised as much as it had been.

 

“I’m sorry, Severus,” he said and took the long-fingered, potions-stained hand in his own. He intertwined their fingers and used his thumb to stroke the back of Severus’ hand. “It’s just that I worry. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

 

The hand in his briefly clenched his fingers and Harry looked quickly at Severus’ face, which was a blank mask, giving nothing away.

 

They were silent. It was uncomfortable and Harry desperately tried to think of ways to claw them back to more stable ground. Severus did it for him, in fact, by leaning over and whispering in Harry’s ear.

 

“I seem to remember that you have a very nice bottle of red at home, Potter. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to share it with me away from these prying eyes?”

 

Harry glanced around the room and, indeed, several broad-shouldered, rough-looking Yorkshire men were looking at them suspiciously. Harry wanted nothing more than to show Severus his wine collection, amongst other things.

 

They gathered their coats and left the pub in a flash. Harry all but dragged Severus to the Apparition point and didn’t even stop before pulling Severus into a side-ways Disapparition.

 

 *******

 

They had taken a more leisurely stroll down the street to Harry’s flat, stopping at the local corner shop for Harry to pick up some milk, before arriving at Harry’s home.

 

Harry busied himself in the kitchen, putting things away, searching for some suitable music on the Wireless, and picking out a bottle of red he’d been given by Hermione’s parents. He entered the main room, holding two glasses in his hands and his wand in his mouth, to find Severus looking dubiously at the cage on Harry’s dining room table.

 

“What is this?”

 

Harry put down his own glass and removed his wand from between his teeth before answering, “That’s Howard.”

 

Severus eyed the Pygmy Puff distrustfully. Howard had inched towards the edge of his cage and was sniffing in the direction of Severus’ hand. His long, pink tongue extended towards Severus’ fingers. Severus drew back, clearly dubious about the small pink and purple fluff ball now residing on Harry’s eating space.

 

“Hmmm,” he murmured.

 

Harry pressed the other wine glass into Severus’ hand, picked up his own, and opened the cage to scoop Howard into his free hand and onto his shoulder.

 

“And why, exactly, is _Howard_ currently in residence here?”

 

“I got it for Teddy. He wanted one and Dromeda’s allergic or doesn’t want pets or something,” he said and giggled as Howard’s tongue tickled his ear, “hee, hee!”

 

Severus still looked unconvinced but relaxed, obviously glad to have something to criticise. “You evidently spoil the child,” he stated, plainly. “You’ll be giving him your bed next. Buying him a pet he doesn’t even have to care for – honestly, Harry.”

 

Harry’s cheeks coloured and he turned to nuzzle Howard’s fluffy fur. “Teddy was a bit upset after Saturday. Howie’s not so bad, really. Nice and warm when he wants to sleep on my lap or my chest,” he argued sedately. “And it’s a godfather’s prerogative to spoil their godson.”

 

He smiled a small, sad smile as he remembered Sirius sending him his Firebolt and determinedly blinked back tears. It still hurt to think of him sometimes.

 

Severus said nothing but took a long sip of his wine before lifting Howard from Harry’s shoulder. The small creature squeaked initially but cooed when Severus stroked him with a long, pale finger.

 

After putting Howard back into his cage with a beguiling gentleness, Severus stepped close to Harry – so close that Harry could feel the taller man’s breath on his lips.

 

“Perhaps, I can give you something to distract you from your thoughts, Mr Potter,” he whispered huskily.

 

Harry about melted on the spot, glad to be diverted from melancholia, and placed his own, untouched, wine on the table.

 

“Oh, if you would take the time, Professor Snape,” he replied, placing his hands on Severus’ chest and tilting his head as the other man’s hardness pressed into his hip. “I’d be very, very grateful. But what can I give you in return?”

 

Severus’ hands came to rest on his backside and pulled him closer. “I am sure you will think of something, Potter.”


	8. The Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'There was usually a memorial ceremony held at Hogwarts as well as official Ministry formalities. At Hogwarts, the day was reserved for mourning the loss of so many lives in both Dark Wars, whilst the Ministry insisted on holding grand galas and celebrations.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and the Kudos. Hope it's still engaging.

“Oooh, god, Severus, harder! You… feel amazing!”

 

Severus thrust wildly into Harry, who was clinging to the headboard and moaning wantonly beneath him. It wasn’t like he truly had much control over his pace or force anymore – he was far too close to his own release for that.

 

Harry seemed please with whatever he did manage, though, as he cried out in shameless pleasure, coming over Severus’ hand, which was closed around his cock. The tightening around Severus’ own member pushed him over the edge and they collapsed simultaneously onto Harry’s bed.

 

Severus lay on top of Harry for a few minutes, breathing hard and trying to regain control over his rebellious limbs. Eventually, with an effort that he hoped Potter appreciated, he kissed between the younger man’s shoulder blades and rolled himself off.

 

A few moments later, Harry seemed to regain enough energy to shift towards him and he laid his head in the crook between Severus’ shoulder and chest.

 

“Wow,” Harry breathed, causing a delightful puff of air to tease Severus’ nipples, and Severus could feel his grin on his skin. “You sure you haven’t been brewing the Potency Potions again?”

 

Severus curled his arm around his young lover and squeezed him. “Cheeky brat,” he huffed in return. He felt Harry’s chuckle reverberate pleasantly through his chest and his heart constricted slightly.

 

It was a month into his… arrangement with Harry. Severus told himself every time they met that it would be the last but inevitably ended up making plans to meet Harry again. Which would most certainly be the case this time as well.

 

Remarkably, and to Severus’ relief, they had managed to keep their affair quiet and out of the press, but the longer it went on, the harder it would be to keep secret and, as he repeatedly had to remind himself, Severus and Harry could not possibly have a serious relationship.

 

Harry had been acting rather oddly of late as well, which, to his chagrin, worried Severus more than he believed it should. The younger man had been moody and withdrawn during several of their meetings and then clingy, insecure, and, bizarrely, fearful at other times.

 

Severus could feel that Harry’s fingernails were bitten to the quick as he traced patterns on Severus’ chest and he was quite secretive about some of the notes he was taking. Harry was sure to tidy his parchments and notepads away before Severus had a chance to glimpse what he was writing.

 

On the other hand, Harry had become much more interested in and, occasionally, downright intrusive about Severus’ potions business. On numerous occasions, he had pointed out that Severus should probably be much more suspicious of his clients’ intentions and it had led to a few arguments – which generally ended up with them in bed together, too exhausted to quarrel further.

 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Harry asked in a quiet, distracted voice, suddenly very still.

 

Severus frowned in confusion at the question before he remembered what day it was. Tomorrow was 2nd May, the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and Severus’ near fatal experience and Harry’s fatal one. Though Harry’s didn’t stick, he supposed.

 

There was usually a memorial ceremony held at Hogwarts as well as official Ministry formalities. At Hogwarts, the day was reserved for mourning the loss of so many lives in both Dark Wars, whilst the Ministry insisted on holding grand galas and celebrations.

 

Severus knew that Harry usually attended the Hogwarts ceremony but was never known to stay any longer than necessary. Minerva had told him that the boy usually stood at the back, lending silent, stoic support to the Weasleys and to so many others, and she had respected his request to not be called upon to speak. Harry had, of course, lost just as much, if not more than the rest of them throughout the course of both wars but declined to acknowledge any indication that this was the case.

 

It wasn’t that Severus ever forgot about the events of that day – he was reminded daily by the thick, silvery corded scars that were currently partially covered by Harry’s thick, unruly hair. It was just that he’d been unusually preoccupied this past month (mostly with his time with and thoughts about Harry), that he’d genuinely lost track of the dates. He briefly chastised himself when he realised he’d missed a recent full moon for some time-sensitive brewing related to his own research, before he realised he had been silent for too long.

 

Harry had shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “Sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. Forget I asked.”

 

Harry turned away slightly before Severus caught him and pulled him back in closer. “I was merely caught up in my thoughts,” he stated monotonously before he let out a slow breath. “I usually spend the day locked inside my house with a bottle of Ogden’s finest. I see no reason to deviate from the routine this year.”

 

He’d obviously said the wrong thing, as Harry noticeably stiffened in his arms. He remained silent, however, and resumed his tracings through the sparse hairs on Severus’ chest after a recognisable pause.

 

Neither man, it seemed, wished to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them. Severus felt unpleasantly nauseated as he lay, hand clasped on Harry’s thin, wiry shoulder and cursed Harry for bringing up the topic in the first place.

 

“I’m going to Hogwarts in the morning,” Harry said eventually, still too quiet and, clearly, not talking to Severus in particular but mostly thinking out loud. “Mrs Weasley asked me to go to the Burrow again afterwards. But I… don’t know.”

 

Severus frowned at the uncertainty and desolation in Harry’s tone. He was unused to hearing Harry so reluctant to see the redheaded tribe.

 

He had never pressed Harry as to why Teddy Lupin had been upset at the Burrow that weekend about three weeks ago, when Harry had acquired the curious Pygmy Puff Severus could hear currently rolling around in a hamster ball Harry had bought for it. The fur ball had looked utterly ridiculous to Severus as it scurried around in the plastic contraption but Harry insisted Howards was happy with his new toy as it allowed him freedom to roam the flat without fear of being stepped on.

 

Now, however, Severus wondered if perhaps Harry had been more unsettled than Teddy had.

 

Harry sighed again. “I’ll go, obviously,” he said resignedly, “I couldn’t disappoint Molly so.”

 

Severus wanted to tell Harry to tell Molly Weasley to get stuffed if making him go to the Weasleys’ to join them in their grief was doing anything to make Harry feel worse than he clearly did. He held his tongue but gave Harry, what he hoped was, a reassuring squeeze.

 

“You are more than welcome to share my bottle of Ogden’s, should you so desire.”

 

Severus didn’t really want to company any more than it seemed Harry wanted to go to the Burrow. It would feel too much like being in proper relationship. It felt unsettlingly wrong not to ask, though, and he was sure Harry would decline. He felt only marginally guilty for the half-heartedness of his offer.

 

As expected, Harry shook his head against his chest before planting a small kiss on his pectoral. “Thank you, but I have to go,” Harry said softly. “It’s for them.”

 

Again, Severus felt an almost irrepressible urge to encourage Harry to just do something for himself and screw everyone else for once. He ignored it.

 

A loud, high-pitched cooing distracted them as Howard entered the bedroom and rolled around impatiently. Harry chuckled and groaned.

 

“Someone obviously wants fed,” he murmured into Severus’ chest. He heaved himself out of bed, still naked as a jaybird, and picked up the orange plastic ball encasing the Pygmy Puff.

 

It both amazed and disconcerted Severus how Harry seemed to suddenly shake off the heaviness of their conversation as he watched the younger man trot into the main room of the flat, chattering inanely to his pet.

 

He scowled to himself and got up. Yes, he’d acquire the finest vintage of Firewhiskey he could get his hands on, lock his door, and play some ridiculously loud Elgar from his phonograph. And try not to think about Harry at the Burrow.

 

 *******

 

Harry released the top buttons of his cloying dress robes as he turned and walked away from the gathered crowds in the grounds of Hogwarts. The rows upon rows of grieving wizards, witches, and ghosts were still intent upon McGonagall behind her podium in front of Dumbledore’s tomb as she indicated to the musicians to start playing.

 

As he retreated from the crowds, back towards the castle, he ran a weary hand through his hair. The music swelled and he quickened his pace. The last thing he wanted was to be caught up in the overt sentimentality of the day. He’d done his bit, he’d shown his face, and now he needed time to retreat before being obliged to join the Weasley family at the Burrow.

 

When he’d first arrived, he’d spotted George Weasley, stony-faced and being guided gently by Angelina to his seat, and felt his insides freeze as he recalled the last Saturday he had spent at the Burrow. He’d carefully avoided the block of redheads in the crowd before and during the memorial, something that they were used to by now. There was a tacit understanding that Harry would be at the ceremony but needed to be separate from the rest of them. In the first couple of years following the war, Hermione had tried to force Harry to sit with them, insisting that he needed to be supported by people who loved him, which resulted in rather awkward panic attacks and arguments in the aftermath.

 

Ultimately, they had all come to appreciate that Harry dealt with his grief in his own way and compelling him to do otherwise was more harmful than beneficial for all concerned.

 

His self-imposed seclusion did not prevent the wandering eyes and pointed fingers of the crowd, which hadn’t seemed to at all lessen over time. He didn’t want this day to be about him, as so much of the war had seemed to be. This day was for those who had lost their lives and their loved ones.

 

He flopped down onto the steps leading into the entrance hall and laid back in the sunshine. Selfishly, he wished Severus were with him. He could potentially have finally told his lover how frustrated and angry he felt being forced to endure the whispers and stares as he mourned his friends and family; how desperately he had wished to join them at one point; how he was one step away from being so desperately in love with him that he never wanted to let him go.

 

He knew it was soon to fall in love so hard but, as Harry understood, love was not something that stuck to a timetable. He had once asked Hermione how she knew that Ron was the one for her. She had blushed and a silly grin had spread over her face. She’d just known, she said. She had looked at Ron one day and had been sure that she wanted to spend her life (no matter how frustrating) with him. Harry had squeezed her hand and she told him she was certain he would find someone one day.

 

Harry hadn’t revealed anything to Severus about his difficulties after the war or his more recent fears with regards to his mental health. Instead of relenting as he’d hoped, Harry had been seeing more and more of the strange apparitions around the place. He swallowed hard as he remembered glimpsing Colin Creevey, dressed in his school uniform and clutching his camera, just the other day when he’d gone to the grocers. Needless to say, he’d left without his shopping and headed home to the comfort of a glass of wine and Howard purring sympathetically on his chest.

 

More troublingly, Luna was starting to show sure signs of worrying about him, which indicated to Harry that there really was something wrong with him after all. She’d mentioned to him as they had dinner with her new boyfriend - Rolf Scamander, apparently the famous Newt’s grandson - that the Wrackspurts seemed to have doubled in number since she’d last seen him and she had held his hand comfortingly. Rolf had blithely continued eating the lasagne Harry had brought, totally unthreatened by Luna’s affectionate behaviour towards him. Harry liked Rolf.

 

In any case, he was worried that Severus would run, screaming, for the proverbial hills if Harry were to reveal the true extent of the damage the war had wrought upon his psyche.

 

In the distance, the music ground to a halt and Harry could hear the sound of hundreds of people making their way towards the castle. He pushed himself up from the step and dusted off his robes.

 

As he made his way to the Great Hall, where he would meet the Weasleys and their extended family, the all too familiar buzzing in his head and back teeth started up. Harry stopped, leaned a hand against the stone-built wall he had helped to rebuild, and clenched his eyes tight shut.

 

‘Not now,’ he thought frantically, ‘ _please_ not now.’

 

The buzzing intensified and he heard soft, susurrating whispers inside his mind.   He grabbed his head with both hands. He needed to get away whilst he could before the people from the memorial got back. He opened his eyes and was staggered towards the stairs to the dungeons. No one would go there, he reasoned. The students were supposed to go to the Great Hall to continue the memorial ceremony with the rest of he crowd who weren’t already making their way to Hogsmeade to Apparate or Floo home.

 

Harry lurched down the stone steps, the murmuring in his head intensifying as he moved. He almost fell down the last three steps but managed to sequester himself into a small alcove behind a statue of Richard the Ruthless before his legs gave way completely.

 

He pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his forehead onto his knees. The muttering got louder and louder until all Harry could hear were snippets of familiar, accusatory voices.

 

 _It’s your fault we’re dead_.

 

_Why didn’t you save me, Harry?_

_How could you have let me die, Harry? You’re a disgrace to your parents._

_Teddy doesn’t have parents because of you!_

_It’s all you fault!_

He rocked back and forth, covering his ears and screwing his eyes shut. “Shut up, shut up, shutupshutupshutup, SHUT UP!” he screamed.

 

A huge discharge of magic exploded from him and a series of echoing metallic crashes followed. And then…

 

Silence.

 

Harry stayed curled up behind the statue, breathing hard. He registered a warm trickle down the sides of his face and realised he had scratched his temples with his fingernails. He raised his head, warily.

 

He was alone.

 

He glanced up and down the dungeon corridor. Several suits of amour in both directions lay in heaps instead of standing tall and the several of the portraits were watching him, warily.

 

He roughly wiped at his eyes, ridding himself of the evidence of his tears, and stood on shaky legs. He pressed his hands to his mouth and let out a shuddering breath.

 

What was he going to do?

 

 *******

 

In the end, he did nothing. After wiping his face clean and wordlessly fixing the suits of armour with a wave of his wand, he had gone to the Burrow and done his duty as a surrogate son, as Molly stoically prepared dinner and the other Weasleys sat around with glasses of varying liquors, alternating between avoiding the subject of the day and telling stories about Fred and George’s exploits. Hermione had done her best to help Molly in the kitchen whilst Harry took himself away from the crowds and sat at the end of the garden, watching the gnomes trying to sneak back in without being seen.

 

His thoughts mostly been consumed with what he had heard in the dungeons. They had sounded so close, so real… Sirius, Tonks, Colin, Remus…

 

He’d taken the earliest opportunity to return home after he’d barely touched the dinner Molly and Hermione had prepared. Hermione had tried to catch him on his way out but Harry had Flooed away and blocked his own fireplace as soon as possible.

 

A few days later, he was still curled on his settee, an energetic Howard scrambling about the flat in his ball, as Harry allowed himself to descend further into his depression.

 

He’d not heard from Severus and hadn’t attempted to contact the man himself. He was too tired, too drained to do much more than to feed Howard or go the bathroom when necessary. He wore the same pyjamas he had changed into as soon as he’d arrived home from the Burrow and most likely smelled worse than the toilets at the Hogshead.

 

He pulled his blanket around himself, coveting the warm heaviness that embraced him. He decided that smelling bad was not the worst thing he could do in the scheme of things.

 

He didn’t stir at the insistent knocking at his door. Howard continued on his haphazard journey around the flat and Harry wrapped himself even tighter in his duvet. The knocking persisted.

 

“Harry? Harry, it’s Hermione and Luna,” the voice beyond his flat told him, “we’re coming in, okay? Don’t hex us.”

 

The door clicked and swung open, though Harry didn’t move from his blanket cocoon.

 

“Oh, Harry…”

 

He looked up at Hermione’s sad, breathy exclamation. Luna stood slightly behind her, looking at him with eyes full of sorrow.

 

Harry sat up, holding his duvet around himself as he did do. “Hey, how are you both?”

 

Hermione made a short, barking sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “How are we? _How are we?_ ” she repeated incredulously, “Harry, we’ve been trying to contact you for four days! The Floo is blocked and the owls have just come back unanswered!” Harry glanced, guiltily at the small pile of unopened letters sitting at his window. “You’ve clearly not shaved since the ceremony and something has _obviously_ died in your kitchen or else that smell is coming from you. And you ask _us_ how we are? I don’t know whether to hug you or slap you, Harry Potter!”

 

Her voice had grown higher and more and more hysterical by the end of her speech. She took a deep, calming breath and Luna patted her gently and absentmindedly on the shoulder. Harry looked down as Howard’s ball collided with his ankle and he reached down to take him out, stroking him as he took held him to his own chest.

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said, still not looking at her. “I just needed time to think and didn’t realise it had been so long. I didn’t mean for you to worry about me.”

 

Hermione laughed sarcastically, “Well, good job, Harry. Brilliant strategy, really – practically running away from the Burrow and refusing all contact for half a week. Definitely going to keep us all calm. We’re definitely not going to think you’ve tried to kill yourself again!”

 

She flopped down onto the other sofa and put her face in her hands. Harry felt awful. He’d not even really thought about how his friends would feel. He moved to the other sofa, still holding Howard who was humming into his solar plexus. Luna had busied herself looking at his bookshelves, clearly allowing them a moment of relative privacy.

 

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in towards him. She turned into him and grasped him to her forcefully and buried her face into his neck. He shifted Howard slightly to prevent him from being squashed and started to rub Hermione’s back, soothingly.

 

“’e’ve ‘ee oh eahed!”

 

His skin muffled her cry and he moved her back slightly. “What?” he asked, trying not to look amused. “I couldn’t quite make that out, ‘Mione.”

 

“She said that we’ve been so worried,” Luna said blithely, belying the concern in her clear eyes. “Your Wrackspurts have bred again, Harry, but I like your Pygmy Puff.”

 

Harry nodded, “Thanks, Luna. Yeah, I really am sorry, Hermione. I didn’t think. I’m okay, just had a few things on my mind.”

 

She gave him a watery smile and ran a hand over his stubbly cheek. “I’m just not sure how many times I’m going to have to tell you to get it through that thick skull that we’re here for you. You don’t need to hide things from us, Harry. We’re on your side.”

 

“Harry’s side,” he agreed. They looked at each other, grateful for each other’s presence and Harry was reminded yet again of how much he loved Hermione and how lucky he was to have her as a friend.

 

“Tea, I think,” Luna broke the silence in her normal dreamy quality. “Tea will help.”

 

“Uh, yeah… I’m not sure I have fresh milk. Not been shopping in a bit,” Harry said sheepishly.

 

Luna shook her head and she lifted up a carrier bag Harry hadn’t noticed before. It was quite full, though appeared to have a Feather-light charm on it. “We thought we’d need it.”

 

The unsaid implication was that they were half expecting to find Harry dead in his own flat and that they’d have to wait for the Aurors to arrive. He felt horribly and shamefully guilty again.

 

Hermione gave him a short squeeze before taking Howard from his other hand. “You need a shower now, Potter,” she pushed him towards the bathroom, “I wasn’t joking about the smell. No-one will ever go out with you if you smell like that.”

 

He chuckled and shook his head but dutifully got up to wash. Hermione was right – Severus wouldn’t touch him whilst he smelled like a sewer. It was also time to send him an owl.

 

******* 

 

He should have known better than to think Hermione wouldn’t nag him about why he’d essentially become a hermit over the last four days. He came back into the main room, freshly showered, shaved, and dressed in his least-creased t-shirt and jeans so find that the girls had set out a plate of sandwiches and a pot of tea. They were both sitting at the dining table, Luna stroking a placid and purring Howard as they waited for him.

 

Harry sat down and pulled a teacup and the pot towards him gratefully. He felt much better after the shower and, though he was not hungry, he desperately wanted a cup of tea. He sipped at it and sighed contentedly. Luna was right: tea really did help.

 

He replaced the cup onto the saucer and looked up to find both Hermione and Luna watching him expectantly.

 

“What?” he asked, blankly.

 

Hermione tutted and Luna took a sip of her tea, not smiling at all. “Honestly, Harry,” Hermione said exasperatedly, “Did you genuinely think we’d not want an explanation for your behaviour? That we’d bring you fresh milk and make sandwiches and chat about Quidditch?”

 

She gave him a look that took him straight back to their days at Hogwarts when he and Ron were being particularly dense about something. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and concentrated very hard on his tea. “Well, Puddlemere United have been playing pretty well this season,” he replied glumly, desperate to avoid the inevitable conversation.

 

Luna giggled and scratched Howard behind his miniscule ears, earning her a gratified trill. Hermione shook her head at the other woman in apparent disbelief. She seemed to be regretting bringing Luna with her to rescue Harry from himself. She turned her attention back to Harry who was fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt.

 

“Harry,” she said firmly, “tell us what’s wrong.”

 

It was an order if there ever was one. Hermione was not going to take ‘nothing’ for an answer and Harry was well aware that she would literally stick him to his seat until he talked if she needed to. He clenched his jaw and looked to the ceiling, unsure of exactly what to say. If he said too much, Hermione would have him dragged to a hospital faster than he could say ‘Expelliarmus’; if he didn’t say enough she’d keep on at him until he broke down. He was grateful she hadn’t taken the time to learn Legillimency as he’d have no chance of hiding anything from her.

 

Finally, he decided that a little bit of truth would likely be the best option. Luna and Hermione were looking at him, waiting for his answer.

 

“I’ve been investigating a murder,” he said wearily. “He worked at a Muggle restaurant I used to go to before he died. I… I think there might be more to his death than the Muggles know.”

 

Hermione frowned and Luna tilted her head in curiosity.

 

“I think it might have been a Wizard who killed him,” Harry continued quietly, “The way the Muggle reporters described how he was found made be think of the Killing Curse.”

 

The room was silent. Even Howard had stopped cooing.

 

“This could be serious. Why haven’t you reported this to the Aurors, Harry?” Hermione asked seriously. “If you really think-“

 

“I know it could be serious! I said to Ron,” Harry interrupted, “but he thought the appropriate branch would pick it up if there was anything to it. He said he didn’t have enough clout in the department at the moment to raise it.”

 

Hermione looked furious and Harry suddenly felt sorry for Ron when she got home. He took another sip of tea and avoided her livid gaze.

 

“The Quibbler could run an article,” Luna said, “It might raise the profile of the case enough to get it looked into if you really think it’s a wizard, Harry.”

 

Harry shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t have any actual proof at the moment and I don’t want to draw attention to it, just in case I’m right.”

 

“But I don’t understand why that made you withdraw for the last few days, Harry,” Hermione pressed.

 

Harry hesitated, keen to minimise the fallout from his confession. “It’s more that I’ve not been sleeping lately. Things just got on top of me. But I’m really fine,” he added hastily.

 

Hermione didn’t look convinced and Harry decided to act quickly. “I’ll be sure to pop round tomorrow, if you’re free. Disprove the rumours of my demise and such; give you a break from Rosie. How is she? I miss her.”

 

Hermione, still looking a bit sceptical, commenced a detailed description of Rosie’s recent magical exploits and Harry was grateful for the reprieve from the attention. Luna caught his eye as she resumed patting Howard. He had a horrible feeling she could see right through him and he’d have to be careful from now on. He really didn’t want to worry his friends.

 

 

 


	9. The Invaders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Harry was early, for once. The oddity of this did not escape him but after spending almost five days wallowing in his own self-pity and filth, he’d been galvanised into a new sense of tenuous purpose with Severus’ reply to his owl.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Whoo boy, firstly: SMUT warning. This has plot surrounding the smut but the smut is smutty. Just to warn people.
> 
> Hopefully I've at least added enough plot points and intrigue here to balance it.   
> Thank you again for the comments and kudos and bookmarks!
> 
> Some chapters are harder to produce than others which is why some of them are released in quicker succession.   
> Anyway, enjoy.  
> C.O

It was another few days before Severus was free to meet Harry again. He had tried, once, to contact the other man via the Floo system to confirm a day for them to see each other again but had encountered a block on the chimney. He had taken this as a sign that Harry didn’t wish to be contacted and worried briefly before being caught up with a flurry of commissions.

 

The owl had arrived shortly after dinnertime five days after the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It was the same, proud bird he’d dealt with the first time Harry had contacted him – the one he now knew to belong to the Granger-Weasley family. She perched on the garden fence and eyed him superciliously as he read the letter.

 

It mentioned nothing of the last few days of silence and simply suggested that they try Bristol for somewhere to eat this time. He sketched off a quick reply, stating that Friday suited him best this time, and watched the owl soar into the distance before turning back to his ingredients garden. He tried not to think too hard about the knot that had loosened in his stomach when he’d seen Harry’s handwriting.

 

Apparently, it was going to be a day of interruptions and letters as not an hour later, another owl, one of Hogwarts’ ilk this time, landed in front of him. He raised an eyebrow, questioningly at it. It couldn’t possibly be time for another Hospital Wing commission.

 

He had obviously paused too long as the bird pecked impatiently at his hand.

 

“Ouch!” Severus scowled and sucked on his injured finger. “All right you hellish fowl, I’ll read your damned letter.”

 

The owl stuck out its leg petulantly to allow Severus to untie the letter. As soon as it was freed from its burden, it ruffled its brown feathers and took off into air. Obviously, a reply was not required.

 

The writing on the front of the envelope was clearly that of Minerva McGonagall. Severus tore open the heavy parchment and hastily unfolded the letter held within.

 

His face paled.

 

He scrambled to his feet, in an infrequent show of inelegance, and rushed into his house heading towards the workroom in the cellar. He set quickly and thoroughly about hiding all evidence of his most recent commissions and setting deep-seated Confundus charms into all his research works.

 

Damn it, he’d meant to do this as he went along but had been blinded by his faith in his own security systems and his distracted nature of late.

 

He had placed the letter from Minerva deep within the folds of his robes, making a mental note to incinerate at as soon as possible. There were, however, more pressing matters to content with: such as the desk full of commission letters and copies of receipts sitting in his study.

 

Minerva had outlined a conversation she’d had with Kinglsey Shakelbolt, who had ‘confidentially’ informed her of the plan to raid Severus’ house the very day the letter had arrived. The MLE, apparently, had reason to believe he was involved in the brewing of several illegal potions involved in a spate of crimes within the Magical community recently. The Minister for Magic himself had sanctioned the raids. The Minister harboured a long-held grudge since school against Severus, deepened by his dubious past and the exoneration he had received after Harry’s and others’ tireless testimonies. That Severus held an Order of Merlin was the despicable cherry on top of the hatred cake as far as Conley Fowl was concerned.

 

Severus had just finished placing the final charm on his letters when the loud banging came at the door. He closed his eyes. He _knew_ he should have chosen to live somewhere unplottable.

 

He cast a quick levitating charm on his vase, just in case they decided to use _Pirori Incantatem_ on his wand, before answering the continued knocking.

 

“Yes?” Severus asked calmly, bolstering his Occlumency shields as he spoke and took in the assemblage of Aurors at his door. He briefly noted Kinglsey to be amongst them before sweeping his gaze over the rest of the group.

 

The man heading the group was a short, burley wizard who had clearly never heard of a set of tweezers. His one, long dark eyebrow furrowed over his eyes and nose as he glared at Severus. He had a diagonal scar over his lips.

 

“Snape,” the wizard said, harshly, in a clipped, upper class accent and a malevolent glee shining in his dark eyes, “we’re here to search your house. Minister’s approved it. Part of the Illegal Potion Raids, you know.”

 

Severus raised a single brow and cast a judgemental glance over the other man. A name drifted to the front of his mind: Zephyr Proudfoot. The man was known for his support of W.A.D.E. and for being one in a long Pureblood line. He was as narrow-minded as they came and made no pretence of hiding his prejudices. His saving grace, perhaps, had been his staunch aversion to anything and anyone to do with the Dark Lord and his regime.

 

Which was just, of course, pure comfort to Severus. He restrained himself from hexing the man outright and, instead, gave him his most obsequious smile. “Of course, gentlemen and ladies,” he said, stepping backwards and revelling in the sour look that crossed Proudfoot’s face. The man had obviously been looking for a reason to use force and Severus had, jubilantly, denied him that. He swept an arm dramatically to usher them into his home and said, “Right this way.”

 

The Aurors trooped into his entrance hall and Severus closed the door, firmly, behind them. He watched, blank-faced and silent, as they swept through his cottage home. Proudfoot was roughly sorting through the letters and books on his desk whilst Kingsley was sent down to the cellar to investigate the potions lab. For this, Severus was grateful, knowing that Shaklebolt, at least, would take care with his instruments.

 

He sent silent thanks to Merlin and Minerva as the group practically overturned his home, not allowing a single speck of dust to go undisturbed.

 

After at least two hours, Proudfoot gathered his group of Aurors in the entrance hall again, clearly furious at being unable to find anything that could incriminate the man whose house he had all but ransacked. He gave Severus a disgusted, hateful look. Severus sneered back: he hadn’t been a spy within Volemort’s ranks for more than ten years for nothing.

 

“Right, Snape,” Proudfoot growled at him, rage radiating out of his very pores, “don’t think this is over just because we haven’t found anything. We’re watching you.”

 

Severus remained outwardly impassive and looked the other man right in the eyes. His mind was wide open to invasion and Severus caught a glimpse of empty bottles of Firewhiskey and a woman walking away from him, bags in hand. He left the rotten mind before him and narrowed his eyes.

 

“Of course, Auror Proudfoot,” he said smoothly, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

 

The group left through the front door again and Severus waited until every single one had Disapparated before he closed, locked, and warded his front door. He stepped calmly into the living room and surveyed the disorder before him with distaste.

 

He was getting careless. That would have to be rectified.

 

 *******

 

Harry was early, for once. The oddity of this did not escape him but after spending almost five days wallowing in his own self-pity and filth, he’d been galvanised into a new sense of tenuous purpose with Severus’ reply to his owl.

 

It was Friday night and Harry was sitting in a small, relatively quiet Muggle bar in Bristol, nursing a glass of white wine as he waited for the other man to arrive. He had questioned his decision to lie to Hermione and Luna about the people he’d been seeing and hearing but ultimately he felt he’d done the best thing for him at the time.

 

He truly didn’t want to be a burden on his friends. He’d disrupted their lives enough at school and during and after the war with his problems. They had the right to live their lives without his issues bringing them down. They had enough to deal with on their own, with memories and new ventures.

 

Hermione had told him that Ron had been struggling at the Auror office, finding that a lot of his ideas were ignored or appropriated depending on who he spoke to. George had apparently offered him a position at the joke shop as partner and Ron was seriously considering this to be an option. It concerned him that his best friend hadn’t felt able to tell him about his troubles himself and made a mental note to ask Ron out for a drink soon.

 

 _He’s probably just avoiding your bubbly self, Potter. You’re_ such _a joy to be around these days after all. And it’s not like you’re being entirely open and honest yourself is it? What kind of friend are you?_

 

Harry frowned deeply at the thought and took a deep drink from his glass.

 

“Started without me, Potter?”

 

The smooth, deep voice startled Harry and he almost choked on the liquid currently making its way down his throat. He sputtered and coughed violently before turning watery eyes up to see Severus looming over him, dressed entirely in black this time, an sporting an inscrutable expression.

 

“H-hello,” Harry managed to force out, “don’t mind me dying over here. Just make sure my broom goes to Ron.”

 

Severus snorted in amusement and sat down. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said dispassionately, but placed his hand on Harry’s knee possessively. “You Gryffindors are always so dramatic.”

 

“Comes with the reckless abandon and disregard for our own safety,” Harry intoned monotonously. He was used to this line of argument from Severus. “You do realise the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, yeah?”

 

“What a blessing for us all it decided otherwise,” Severus replied dryly. His hand squeezed Harry’s knee and Harry smiled contentedly. He leaned over and pressed a short kiss to Severus’ lips. He frowned slightly at the way the other man stiffened but put it down to his dislike for public affection.

 

“Nice to see you too,” Harry murmured, looking at Severus through half-lowered lids. “Missed you.” Severus was silent but allowed Harry to shift closer to him. “How have you been? I’m sorry again for the radio silence – the ceremony was harder than I thought it would be.”

 

Severus didn’t seem to understand the reference, if his confused grimace was anything to go by, and he took a couple of minutes to answer. “There was a raid on my house the other day.”

 

“What?” Harry sat up straight, staring at Severus in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? No, of course you’re not. Did they find anything? Are you okay? Jesus, Sev, why didn’t you tell me before?”

 

The older man signalled to the waitress instead of answering him and ordered the two of them a bottle of wine and two whiskies. This was clearly serious.

 

“Severus,” Harry said in a warning tone, as soon as the girl left with their order, “what’s going on?”

 

“They found nothing,” was the reply, though it didn’t settle Harry’s roiling stomach one bit. “Minerva warned me just in time. Apparently, you were right about the embargo on certain ingredients and the shops that I frequent for the few ingredients that I cannot grow by myself were forced into releasing the names of their clients. Yet another directive from our illustrious Minister.” Severus looked irate and continued; “I was fortunate to have enough time to disguise the less palatable aspects of my work before the Aurors descended.”

 

Harry wasn’t particularly comforted. “That sounds like a close call, Sev,” he said, concern laced through his words, “I think you need to be more careful.”

 

He knew Severus was unlikely to stop brewing the complex and interesting potions he was commissioned to make and it would be wrong of Harry to ask the other man to change his ways just because he didn’t totally approve. But he didn’t want Severus to be hauled off to Azkaban – mostly because of his growing feelings for him but also because he and a number of other people had put a lot into preventing the man’s incarceration in the first place.

 

Severus gave him a condescending look. “Of course, I’ll have to be more careful, you fool,” he said harshly and Harry scowled at him, ready for an argument. “I’m not an idiot. No, I’ve been… distracted.”

 

Harry felt a wave of shame and fear crash over him, knowing he was likely taking up a lot of time Severus would normally spend on research and securing his lab. But Severus kept coming back. So, that must mean something, right?

 

Severus’ hand moved and came to rest on the small of Harry’s back. Their wine and whiskey had arrived and Harry gratefully downed the warm, amber liquid, wishing for any distraction from his thoughts. It burned slightly on the down and he winced.

 

“That,” Severus said, moving his hand further round Harry’s back to rest on his left hip, “was a 15-year-old single malt; it was meant to be savoured.”

 

Harry shrugged and leaned his head into Severus’ shoulder, uncaring of who saw them.

 

He didn’t intend to end the night sober. Unwelcome thoughts clogged his brain when he was sober. “You’ll just have to teach me to appreciate it later then,” Harry mumbled, staring into the middle distance. “Hopefully be better at that than teaching me Occlumency.”

 

******* 

 

They had, in fact, stumbled together into Harry’s flat at around one in the morning, Harry giggling uncontrollably as Severus supported him with an arm at his waist and a silly smile of his own. They’d neglected to eat anything, which Harry had a vague thought they’d regret in the morning, but continued to share a further bottle of wine and also partook in a round of drinks bought for the entire bar by some flush gentleman who’d gotten engaged that night.

 

Harry turned and grinned up at Severus, drunkenly. He gripped the lapels of the taller man’s jacket and tugged him forward into a deep kiss. He felt large, long-fingered hands grip his waist as he ran his hands up into Severus’ long, fine hair. He opened his mouth, inviting the other man’s tongue to meet his, and kipped his hips forward so his erection pushed into Severus’ groin. Severus groaned into his mouth and pulled him flush against his chest.

 

Fingers wove into his hair and pulled back, exposing his neck at the same time as stopping the kiss. Teeth nipped at his jugular and lips sucked and soothed in their wake.

 

“Jesus…” Harry moaned, “Been too long since we did this.”

 

Severus appeared to ignore him in favour of paying mind to the other side of his neck whilst addressing the issue of the buttons on his shirt. Harry tried to tug with zealous and clumsy fingers at Severus’ black shirt, keen only to _get it off_ and not thinking about such trivial things as _buttons_.

 

He growled, impatiently and muttered a banishing spell, which sent their clothes, he hoped, to the sofa, and not to some Tibetan Monastery. That would be sure to give the monks something to talk about…

 

Harry giggled at the thought at the same time Severus kissed him on the lips again. The older man paused, pulled back slightly, and gave him a questioning look. Harry couldn’t control the giggling now but shrugged and drew Severus back down to him.

 

“Just thinking about some well-dressed Tibetan monks,” he crooned against Severus’ lips.

 

“There are times when I cannot hope to understand your ramblings.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll learn. I’ve heard you’re quick on the uptake,” Harry said, coaxing Severus into a kiss, “Getting cold.”

 

“Well, who banished our clothes, mmm?” Severus replied but moved them towards the bedroom nonetheless. He had to turn away from Harry to get the door opened and Harry stepped up close behind him, pressing his weeping erection into the small of Severus’ back and wrapped his arms around the pale chest.

 

“Not my best worked idea, I’ll grant you,” Harry admitted as he kissed lightly along Severus’ upper back and neck. “But the results are fantastic. Don’t you agree?”

 

He let out a rather unmanly squeal when Severus spun around and manhandled him into the room and onto the bed. The room spun around him tipsily and he tried waving his hand in an attempt at _Arresto Momentum_ to make it stop. The stubborn chamber refused and then Harry was too distracted by the feeling of Severus’ naked form on top of him.

 

“It could be argued that the end certainly justifies the means,” came the dark whisper in his ear before Severus nipped at the lobe. Harry whimpered, overwhelmed by the rub of tongue on neck, chest on chest, cock on cock. His world closed in on the two of them, tightening further inwards as he sought out Severus mouth and wrapped his legs around the slim waist. He wanted to taste every inch of the man above him and be tasted in return, to consume and be consumed, to love and be loved.

 

The spinning was in his head now and he was desperate to feel Severus inside him, to ground him, for the older man to take everything from him and give him everything in return.

 

“Please,” Harry whispered weakly, “please, Severus. I need to feel you. Please?”

 

Severus pulled back slightly and appeared to sway above him. His dark eyes searched Harry’s face – for what Harry didn’t know – before swooping down in him again. Their mouths met in a mesh of tongues and teeth and passion as Severus’ hand move slowly, achingly slowly, down Harry’s side. Harry shivered and gripped Severus hips harder between his thighs as the touch sent shivers through his flank, his hip, his buttocks, and finally, oh, thank Merlin, finally his tight entrance.

 

Talented fingers teased him with light touches and then Severus was reaching to the bedside table to find the small container of lube Harry had kept on standby since they’d first done this just more than a month ago. The lack of touching was unwelcome and Harry bucked his hips to hurry the other man along.

 

“You impatient imp,” Severus teased as he prepared his fingers.

 

“Your fault for being something that makes me impatient,” Harry replied and grabbed at Severus’ hand and guided it down. Severus gasped heatedly and his pupils dilated impossibly and Harry could hardly make out the difference to his dark irises.

 

The finger breached Harry easily and he hissed in ecstasy and longing. Another finger was added quickly and Harry clamped his mouth onto the side of Severus’ neck, sucking hard to prevent himself from crying out.

 

By the time three fingers were stretching Harry’s entrance, Severus was gabbling what seemed like nonsense in his hear. Harry keened in despair as the fingers were removed but managed to grab Severus’ wrist again before he could get the to the lubrication himself.

 

Green eyes met black as Harry coated him own fingers in the slick substance and proceeded to cover Severus’ cock.

 

Severus breathed in harshly and then clenched his jaw as Harry worked and soon, gently, took Harry’s hand away, interlacing their fingers above Harry’s head and then used his other hand to guide himself to nudge at Harry’s anus.

 

“Please, please, please,” Harry murmured beseechingly against Severus’ lips. _Please make me feel normal again._

 

“Yes,” Severus answered softly, and nudged forward slowly, slowly and –

 

 _Finally_ breached the small entrance. He paused and moved forward in stops and starts of soft nudges until he was fully seated inside and Harry could have wept in relief.

 

Harry placed his free hand on the side of Severus face, looked him straight on and smiled before placing butterfly kissed on the thin mouth. Severus was breathing hard, trying to maintain his control. Harry slid one foot down and up the back of Severus’ thigh and applied some pressure, encouraging the other man to move.

 

Severus complied, relief flooding his features as he thrust forward and they groaned simultaneously. Harry giggled and Severus buried his face in Harry’s neck where Harry was sure he could feel a smile.  

 

Merlin, how could he have been so down and now feel so good? His mind was blissfully blank of everything that wasn’t Severus’ cock in his arse and lips on his skin. It was like someone had locked all his memories and feelings bar the good ones into a box and marked it ‘DO NOT OPEN UNTIL SEX IS OVER’.

 

He never wanted it to be over. His pleasure built in waves as his prostate was brushed again and again and Severus brought him near to cresting over and over until he almost couldn’t stand it. And then Severus touched his cock, which was sandwiched between them.

 

He crested the crashing wave and cried out as he came. He tightened around Severus, who continued to thrust and stroke Harry until his own hot, fluid release was pulsing out of him. Severus grabbed his lips in a fierce kiss as his orgasm peaked and descended.

 

Their foreheads rested together as they breathed hard, recovering slowly from their tryst.

 

“Merlin, fuck me!” Harry exclaimed softly as Severus finally rolled over to the other side of the bed.

 

“I’m Severus and I thought I just did,” was the deadpan reply.

 

Harry groaned and covered his face in embarrassment. “That is an _awful_ joke, Severus! That’s ‘Mr Weasley Dad Joke’ level of bad!”

 

“I would hope any of the paternal Mr Weasleys had not been a position to make that particular comment to you,” Severus said, still straight-faced though there was a twinkle in eye eyes.

 

Harry grimaced at the thought before turning towards Severus and scooting closer to him. “Well that put me right off any kind of round two.”

 

“Best to sleep then, prevent me from telling anymore alcohol-fuelled witticisms.”

 

“Sure, ‘course you blame the alcohol,” Harry said with a slightly sleepy slur as he rested his head on Severus shoulder. “You’ll deny the entire thing in the morning, I bet.”

 

“I have no idea what you mean.

 

“Mmm, course you don’t, love,” Harry whispered drowsily before drifting off.

 

He didn’t feel Severus stiffen beneath him.

 

*******

 

He was running.

 

He couldn’t see to where – it was darkness in front of him, beside him, behind him when he turned. He thought he saw a glimpse of withered leaves on the ground but there was no associated crunching beneath his trainers.

 

But he had to run; he knew he did.

 

So he was running.

 

His hair swept back off his head in a non-existent breeze and there was silence except for his panting breaths.

 

 _Stop._ _This is it._

 

So he stopped.

 

He stood, still in darkness and silence and hair blowing over his face without any wind.

 

Green light flashed and he was blinded and…

 

******* 

 

Harry sat bolt upright, breathing hard. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat that coated his skin.

 

He looked around the room frantically, trying to remember where he was.

 

His bedroom. His bed. Of course.

 

He looked down at where Severus was lying on his front, facing away from Harry. Sometime in the night they had separated, though Severus had was resting on Harry’s pillow.

 

Harry became aware of the sensation of about ten Bludgers trying, simultaneously, to break out from the inside of his skull. He covered his eyes. His mouth tasted like he’d thought licking Howard’s bedding would make a good midnight snack.

  

He braved removing his hand from his eyes to glance at his alarm clock. A small shaft of moonlight illuminated it and he could just make out that it was nearly four in the morning.

 

Merlin, he’d thought hangovers were meant to wait a few hours before kicking you so thoroughly in the balls.

 

He swung his legs out of bed and searched briefly for his boxers before he remembered his banishing spell from earlier on. Whilst useful at the time, he really just wanted his pants right then.

 

“Harry?” Severus intoned sleepily from behind him. His shifting must have woken the other man.

 

“’S nothing, Severus,” he said, “go back to sleep.”

 

It was a sign that Severus had not truly awoken or else he’d have likely declined to settle down as he did in favour of doing the opposite of what Harry requested. He tended to be obstinate like that that when he was tired. Or when he was awake. Or just… well, always.

 

Harry carefully levered himself out of bed and quietly went into the main room, grabbing his dressing gown on the way. Through the blur of his spectacle-less and hung-over state he managed to locate his underwear, which had, thankfully, been neatly folded on the sofa along with the rest of his and Severus’ clothes and Harry’s glasses.

 

Dressed in his dressing gown, pants, and glasses, his next task was to remove the violent beating within his head and so he dug around his medicine cabinet to find a Hangover potion.

 

With his head free of the Bludgers, there came the unwelcome memory of his nightmare. His nausea came back with a vengeance and he sat on top of the toilet seat, cradling his head in his hands.

 

This one was new but not entirely unfamiliar.

 

The green light, he assumed to be the Killing Curse: the same that killed his parents and himself once. He was used to night time invasions into his head – both deliberate and of his own brain’s conception. There was nothing particular about this dream that spoke of it being more than his subconscious replaying his fears in high definition, surround sound.

 

Still…

 

A shadow fell across him from the doorway and he looked up. Severus stood, dressed in his own relocated underwear and looking how Harry had felt a few minutes ago. Clearly, he’d not been as close to sleep as Harry thought.

 

Harry quickly got up and found him the appropriate potion. Relief washed over Severus’ face in less than a minute and he let out a sigh.

 

“I am too old to be that drunk. It is ridiculous,” he said, though Harry was fairly sure it wasn’t particularly meant for him.

 

Nevertheless, he shook his head, revelling in the painless motion, and plucked the vial from Severus’ hands. “Nope, just didn’t have dinner. You’re not old. Just mature.”

 

Severus made a face and Harry chuckled. He moved past the other man hoping that he wouldn’t ask why Harry had been up in the first place.

 

He started to fuss around the living room not feeling remotely tired anymore and flicked his wand at some of the candles to provide some illumination without turning on the main light.

 

“You are not coming back to bed?” Severus asked from behind him. Harry didn’t turn around but continued to tidy some books away. He shook his head.

 

“Not sleepy anymore,” he said as offhandedly as possible. “You go back, though. Mature guys need their rest, I hear.”

 

“Brat,” Severus growled but seemed to acquiesce as Harry heard the bedroom door close behind him.

 

He let out a breath he’d been holding and slumped. He shook himself slightly and decided to gather his notes on Terry’s murder. He’d not actually added to them in a couple of weeks but maybe something new would pop out at him if he re-read them again.

 

He’d try anything just not to think about the darkness.


	10. The Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '“Perhaps I have plans,” he said easily, pretending to wipe dust off the fireplace surround. 
> 
> “If you’re choosing your fuck buddy over my wedding, Severus, I shall be very unhappy.”'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you again and again for the Kudos, comments, and bookmarks. Every single once encourages me to continue writing. The next chapter will be out soon.

It was a ‘Teddy Weekend’ for Harry, which meant that Severus was free to do his brewing without interruption for sex.

 

Or at least the physical act of sex. The thought of it still seemed to take up an undue amount of his conscious brain.

 

It was definitely just sex. It was spectacular sex but just sex, nonetheless. Potter’s slip in bed a couple of weeks ago absolutely hadn’t meant anything. He hadn’t said the word since. It was just a commonly overused term of endearment that he likely used with anyone he slept with.

 

_And had a two-month relationship with._

 

Severus scowled at the unwelcome treacherous voice in his head. He couldn’t possibly have allowed himself to fall into an actual _relationship_ with Potter. He wasn’t the sentimental type anymore. He would not allow _feelings_ to interfere so considerably with his work or his life.

 

No, it was just sex. Logic demanded that it was so. So shut up.

 

He supposed it wasn’t his best argument but he wasn’t going to contemplate any other conclusion, and certainly not a conclusion as supercilious and fanciful as _love._

 

Except that the now well-thumbed paperback novel he’d taken from Harry’s over a month ago was still sitting on his bedside table. And he knew the brand of tea Harry bought when the corner shop had run out of Twinning’s. And he knew that Harry only had to shave every third day. And Harry always had Severus’ favourite biscuits in the cupboard since he’d mentioned it the first time over a cup of tea.

 

Severus put his head in his hands.

 

This was complicated.  

 

******* 

 

Harry released a buoyant Teddy as he stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow and the boy rushed off again in the direction of the open door into the garden.

 

“Oi, let me clean off the soot at least!” Harry shouted after Teddy, who ignored him and continued outside, grimy and ignorant of it. Harry sighed. He supposed Teddy would just get mucky playing in the damp garden away.

 

Hermione had talked him into attending ‘Family Day’ with the Weasleys again, something he hadn’t done since the disastrous day nearly two months ago. He’d been to the Burrow for dinner after the Memorial Ceremony, obviously, but he could barely remember any of what had happened that evening. He hadn’t paid enough attention to the others.

 

The Family Clock showed that Ron had already arrived, as had Bill, Percy, and George, but indicated that Charlie was at work. Harry assumed he’d been unable to get the day off. Ginny’s hand was stuck on ‘travelling’ and Harry quickly made his way into the garden to avoid her coming in with Michael. He wasn’t really in the mood for overly affectionate public displays without at least one glass of something alcoholic in him.

 

The Nightmare had awaked him at least three times in the last week. Some more details seemed to have revealed themselves with each repeat viewing – the crunch of leaves, the shapes of gnarled trees, but no clear path or destination. It always ended the same way – with the heart-stopping green light and him not getting back to sleep. Not that he slept well anyway but it would be nice to go back the occasional nonsense dream where he didn’t die at the end.

 

“Harry! There you are!”

 

Mrs Weasley and Hermione bustled, joyfully, over to him, both wearing twin beaming grins. Harry felt immediately nervous.

 

Rose was perched on Hermione’s hip, trying to grab at her mother’s dangling earring. Harry reached out automatically to relieve Hermione of the small child but Hermione dodged out the way.

 

“No, it’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said, still smiling broadly at him. She and Mrs Weasley exchanged a look. “I’ve got her.”

 

Harry looked between them apprehensively. “Hello, to you both. What’s going on?”

 

Mrs Weasley took his arm, linking their elbows together. “Nothing, nothing, dear,” she replied, apparently unable to stop the intense, scary smiling now. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

 

Harry stopped dead. Oh, no.

 

Sitting at the table was someone Harry had never met before: a very definite, rather good-looking _male_ someone. A male someone who was looking _right-at-Harry_ in an expectant manner _._

 

Harry closed his eyes before shaking his head skywards. Molly apparently hadn’t forgotten about that blind date Ron had mentioned and she was now forcing Harry’s hand in meeting the poor sod.

 

He was going to _kill_ Hermione for persuading him to come.

 

“Uh, Mrs Weasley, Hermione… I…” they looked at him expectantly and he swallowed hard. “I need the bathroom!” He shouted in panic. He unpicked his arm from the crook of Mrs Weasley’s elbow, spun on his heel and ran back inside straight past a curious looking Ginny and Michael.

 

“Who put Blast-ended Skrewts in his pants?” he heard Ginny ask as he took the stairs two at a time up to the restroom furthest from the bottom of the house.

 

As he sat on the side of the bath, he thought about how he’d spent a fair amount of time thinking in bathrooms recently. He supposed they garnered a certain measure of privacy just by their very purpose. He blessed the Weasley family for being large enough to require more than one bathroom, which might buy him a little more time before he was found than if he’d been at Ron and Hermione’s two bedroom semi, for example.

 

His reprieve didn’t last long as he soon heard Hermione’s quiet but firm knock on the door.

 

“Harry, I know you’re in there,” she said impatiently, her voice somewhat muffled through the wood.

 

“Um, can I get have a minute, please?” Harry called out, turning on the tap. “Some of us can’t perform on demand, you know!”

 

“Seriously, Harry, I know you didn’t need to actually use the bathroom. Now open this door or I’m blasting it open, at the risk of seeing your bits or not!”

 

Harry blanched at the thought. Sure they’d lived in a tent together for almost a year but Hermione was like his sister! She wasn’t allowed to see down there!

 

“Alright, alright, hold your Hippogriffs,” he replied then muttered under his breath, “Bloody interfering witch.”

 

He opened the door, revealing a haughty looking Hermione who raised an eyebrow at him and put her hands on her hips. She looked scarily like Mrs Weasley.

 

“Well?” She demanded, continuing her uncanny impression, “What on earth was that all about? You left poor Garret sitting back there quite taken aback.”

 

“Poor Garret, is it?” Harry asked, equally irate. “And why exactly does it matter what _poor_ Garret thinks of me, Hermione?”

 

Hermione puffed herself up before entering the bathroom and pulling the door closed behind her. She turned and hissed at Harry, “He’s here for you! He’s… he’s your date!”

 

Harry groaned and waved in exasperation. “Well that’s just brilliant, Hermione, but maybe you could have warned me?”

 

“You wouldn’t have agreed to come if we’d told you,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

“And what does that tell you? That I don’t _want_ to be set up!” Harry cried back and began pacing feverishly. “I thought you respected me a bit more than that, Hermione.”

 

“I do!” Hermione exclaimed. “I do respect you! It’s just… Well, Molly and I thought that being alone when we were all paired up might be part of the reason you were so low lately.”

 

Harry stopped and looked beseechingly at Hermione, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Hermione,” he said softly, “when have you _ever_ known me to be depressed just because I’m not in a relationship? I think I’ve got a few more reasons to be depressed than not being in a romantic relationship with someone.” His friend flushed and refused to meet his eyes. “Besides,” he continued, also lowering his eyes to the floor, “I am, actually, kind of… seeing someone.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

Harry blinked. Then he closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds before staring at Hermione incredulously. “I think I might _know_ if I’m seeing someone, Hermione. It is my personal life, after all.”

 

Hermione shook her head, smiling patronisingly. “You haven’t _told_ us about anyone.”

 

“And I also haven’t told you I’ve got a new set of scales. I don’t have to tell you I’m shagging someone, Hermione!”

 

“Don’t be crude, Harry,” she said curtly, still not meeting his eyes.

 

Harry just stared at her, lips pursed in irritation, and he raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t about to let her think she had a right to know every tiny detail about his personal life. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

“A set of scales isn’t exactly the same as a _boyfriend,_ Harry!” she said peevishly. “We’re your best friends! We should know these things! If I’d known you were seeing someone, there is no way I’d have let Molly set you up! What were you thinking?”

 

“What was _I_ thinking?” Harry yelled back, increasingly angry and frustrated, “Well, maybe I was thinking my private life could be just that! PRIVATE!”

 

The cup of toothbrushes on the sink rattled violently and the edge of the mirror cracked. It let out a little squeal and a shriek of, “Oh, my!”

 

Harry screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing hard and trying to calm himself down. It wouldn’t do to blow up the Weasleys’ bathroom with uncontrolled magic. He heard Hermione sigh and then move to sit on the toilet seat lid. Opening his eyes, he saw her staring at her hands in the cradle of her skirt and looking miserable. Guilt immediately surged within him.

 

Harry perched back on the edge of the bath and reached over to take her hand.

 

“We’ve just been so worried, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “You’ve just been so withdrawn and secretive again.”

 

He gripped her hand tighter but remained silent.

 

“We thought that maybe meeting someone nice would help you,” Hermione continued softly.

 

“It has.” Harry said, gently, “ _He_ has.”

 

Hermione smiled up at him but then looked confused. “But why haven’t you told us about him?” she implored. “If he’s making you happy, why didn’t you say anything?”

 

In all honesty, he’d mostly kept his relationship with Severus secret because he was afraid of what his friends’ reactions would be. To them, despite the work Harry had done to have Severus exonerated and rewarded for his part in the war, the man was still the greasy git who had caused them all untold grief throughout years of potions lessons, the loss of George’s ear, and the death of Dumbledore. He was the cold-hearted bastard who’d goaded Sirius and had refused to teach Harry Occlumency. They thought he hadn’t tried to prevent any of the misery the Death Eater teachers caused during his short tenure as Headmaster.

 

They didn’t know the funny, quick-witted, gentle man he could be with Harry. They didn’t know _Severus_.

 

Hermione and Ron knew that Harry had admired Snape’s bravery and his actions in the war but they wouldn’t understand how Harry could forgive him as he had done. They certainly couldn’t understand how Harry was falling in love with the man.

 

Harry had also enjoyed having something that was just _his_. He rarely had things he got to keep to himself.

 

“We haven’t really talked about telling our friends yet,” he said, faintly. _More like_ my _friends…_ Harry still wasn’t aware of anyone else that Severus counted amongst his inner circle.

“How long have you been together?”

 

“Just over two months,” he replied serenely, as he remembered.

 

Hermione’s eyes widened suddenly in realisation and she straightened up, hands flapping in the air happily. “Oooh, Harry! It’s that man you met after the club isn’t it? It is! Oh, Harry!”

 

Harry laughed and she gave him a gentle slap to his shoulder. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Harry Potter! Now, you _have_ to tell me!”

 

He shook his head, still smiling. “Not until I’ve talked to him about it. He’s a bit private.”

 

She seemed to accept this and nodded. Then another curious look crossed her face and Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

 

“Does he…” she started, apparently keen to word what she said next properly, “Have you told him about before? About the depression and how bad it got?”

 

Harry deflated like an untied balloon suddenly let loose and frowned. One of the wooden floorboards suddenly became intensely interesting to him.

 

“Harry?” Hermione prompted mildly.

 

He sighed and bit his lip. “How do I tell him, Hermione? I don’t want to scare him off. And it’s not exactly something I can bring up over a bar table or in the bedroom.”

 

“Don’t you do anything else?”

 

Harry’s blush was answer enough for her and she tittered slightly. “Men,” she said in mock exasperation.

 

“We have dinner sometimes,” Harry defended his relationship with Severus. “We do talk but mostly about his work and Teddy and potions-“

 

He stopped himself, keen not to give anything away.

 

“What about your feelings and your worries? And hopes for the future?”

 

“We’ve only been going out for two months!” Harry spluttered.

 

“’Just over’, you said. How do you feel about him, Harry? Truly. Do you see yourself with him in a year? In five years?” Hermione watched his face carefully as she spoke.

 

Harry shifted awkwardly on his perch under her scrutiny. Then he thought about what she was asking. Harry was fairly sure he loved – was _in_ love – with Severus, though he wasn’t sure how Severus felt about him. He knew he liked spending quiet evenings with the man as much as he enjoyed going out for dinner and drinks. He enjoyed their shared sense of humour. He didn’t see the sex getting boring any time soon…

 

But what Hermione was really asking was did he see himself spending the rest of his life with the man? Did Harry trust Severus enough to tell him one of his deepest, darkest secrets?

 

A small, fragile smile caught the edge of his lips and he felt inexplicably at peace with the idea of Severus knowing about that part of him. He wanted to know everything about Severus that he could, even the hard and ugly facts. He wanted to work through their flaws and imperfections and strengths and fears together to make something greater than the sum of the two of them combined. Synergy.

 

He wanted synergy.

 

And they couldn’t have synergy when Harry was hiding such a large part of his past from Severus.

 

Harry looked up, still smiling wistfully, to see Hermione watching him with an expression of pure fondness on her face and tears in her eyes.

 

“Oh, Harry,” she breathed.

 

He gave her a questioning look, unsure of what she was thinking.

 

“You just look so beautiful when you think about him,” she said. “How could I ever dislike someone who puts that look on your face?”

 

Harry felt the sting of tears behind his own eyes and blinked them, swiftly, away. He surged forward and hugged her.

 

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered as she grasped him back.

 

He closed his eyes, savouring the peace and tranquillity of the moment.

 

 *******

 

They had received more than their fair share of strange looks when they’d eventually emerged from the bathroom, Hermione sporting slightly red eyes and Harry a small smile. He assumed the crowd had expected at least one black eye or missing limb with the initial shouting that had gone on.

 

Teddy had rushed up to him, apparently not so oblivious to his absence as Harry had expected, and begged to be picked up. He hadn’t done that for a long time but Harry had a vague idea of what might have happened when he saw a red-faced Victoire being rocked by her mother.

 

He sat beside and politely shared conversation with Garret, Teddy sitting insistently on his lap, as they had dinner. Garret was the nephew of Molly’s friend and turned out to be a big Quidditch fan and to have a wicked sense of humour. He also had a brilliant manner with Teddy, explaining patiently lots of Quidditch terms and listening to Teddy’s tales about his books and also about Howard.

 

Harry had to admit that, if he hadn’t been with Severus, he would seriously have considered asking Garret to see each other again. In the end, he took Garret quietly aside, keeping one eye on Teddy who was now happily hugging Victoire goodbye, and told him that he’d love to keep in touch but that he wasn’t available.

 

The other man had taken it remarkably well, telling Harry that he was disappointed but that he would love to stay friends. They exchanged addresses and parted ways with a promise to get together to see the Caerphilly Catapults together at the next match.

 

Harry left the Burrow feeling much better than when he had arrived and waved goodbye to a happy-looking Hermione and puzzled Ron.

 

He slumped down onto his couch after settling Teddy into his bed and made sure that Howard’s cage was clean. He was about ready to drop off thanks to the combination of sleep deprivation, a good meal, and Molly’s summer punch.

 

He closed his eyes, not able to muster the energy to transfigure the sofa and willing to suffer the backache he’d have in the morning.

 

 *******

 

He was running.

 

He couldn’t see to where but he could see gnarled, leafless trees on either side of him. It was dark ahead but behind was a mess of trees and shrubs and darkness. Leaves on the ground crunched under his feet as he ran.

 

He had to run; he knew he did.

 

So he was running.

 

His hair swept back off his head as a cold breeze swept past him and now he could hear his panting breaths and pounding heart in his ears.

 

 _Stop._ _You’re here again._

 

He stopped and looked around.

 

He stood at the edge of a clearing. It was dark but he knew it wasn’t empty, though he could see no one.

 

Green light flashed and he was blinded and…

 

*******

 

Harry jerked awake and fell off the sofa, landing hard on the floor.

 

_Fuck._

 

He lay, facedown for an indeterminable length of time, breathing fast and hard and fighting a rising nausea in his gullet.

 

As the bile resettled in his stomach, he rose to his knees. He _definitely_ needed to restock the ingredients for Dreamless Sleep. He generally felt uneasy about using potions to modify his sleep-cycle or mood. He knew some could be addictive and eventually stopped working altogether. Harry had used a fair number of them when things had been really bad.

 

Some Muggle medicines, he knew, were similar in their effects and might be less problematic when it came to dependence but that would mean registering with a Muggle GP who would want to know all sorts of awkward things. Like why Harry had never been registered with one before and why he didn’t have a birth certificate, or National Insurance number.

 

He’d had a hell of a time when he tried getting his eyes tested at the Muggle opticians and eventually ducked out of the shop and run to Diagon Alley instead. He couldn’t remember how he’d first got his glasses but he assumed the Dursleys’ hadn’t bothered with anything as generous as finding out his _actual_ prescription. Really, it was a miracle he could even read, let alone spot a Snitch at 200 feet!

 

Having calmed down enough to stand without immediately decking it again, he checked in on Teddy who was still sleeping soundly with both small arms wrapped around his cuddly wolf.

 

Harry shut the door as quietly as he could and sat on the sofa again, gathering the notes on Terry’s death, which he had now read more than fifty times without coming up with any new ideas. Maybe tonight was the night for a revelation. He could only hope.

 

*******

 

Severus was pulling on his waistcoat, getting ready to go over to see Harry as they had arranged, when the Floo flared fiercely in the grate.

 

Draco Malfoy stepped out gracefully, sporting an impressive set of tailored robes and a short ponytail of white-blond hair. He was obviously trying to emanate his father. All he was missing was the superfluous cane and the beautiful wife. Severus knew he would gain one in less than a moth and the other would surely follow.

 

“Severus,” Draco said imperiously, “going out?”

 

Draco’s gaze lingered again on the Muggle-fit of the trousers and waistcoat and he raised a knowing blonde eyebrow. “Still going out with your bit of stuff with a Muggle flair?”

 

Severus felt unanticipated ire begin to simmer within him to hear Harry referred to as his ‘bit of stuff’. “Please state your business and be gone, Draco,” he said brusquely, “I have somewhere to be.”

 

Draco held a hand to his heart, an expression of false hurt on his face. “You wound me, Severus, with your asperity!” Severus rolled his eyes at Draco’s dramatics. Harry’s amusing shamelessness was much more tolerable than this. He frowned, perturbed, at the easy and instantaneous comparison.

 

Draco, in Severus’ period of distraction, had established himself in the biggest armchair in the room and was dispassionately surveying the nearest artefact he could pick up.

 

“That causes impotence if handled for any length of time,” Severus stated evenly as he checked his appearance in the mirror over the fireplace.

 

Draco dropped the wooden phallus as though it were burning hot. “Then why do you have it?” he cried desperately, “Merlin, Severus, warn a man before he handles something that could ruin his wedding night.”

 

Severus smirked cruelly at Draco’s reflection.

 

“Which, by the way,” Draco continued, “is why I’m here. You’ve ignored all my owls and we’ve yet to receive your RSVP and Astoria’s been getting on at me to confirm the numbers.”

 

Severus ignored him and levitated the phallic ornament back to its place on the chair-side table.

 

“Severus…” Draco snarled, warningly.

 

The older man turned and leaned a casual elbow on his mantelpiece. “I’ve been pre-occupied,” he said simply.

 

“With your shag buddy, yes, I know,” Draco said, ignoring Severus’ furious expression. “We still need a reply. Aunt Mildred is just dying to tell you about her azaleas.”

 

Severus continued to scowl and sighed. “What if I simply do not wish to attend?”

 

“It’s my _wedding_ , Severus,” Draco whined, suddenly seeming much more like the demanding eleven-year-old Severus had known over a decade ago. No wonder, Harry couldn’t stand him. He grimaced again at the unprompted thought of his lover.

 

“Perhaps I have plans,” he said easily, pretending to wipe dust off the fireplace surround.

 

“If you’re choosing your fuck buddy over my wedding, Severus, I shall be _very_ unhappy.”

 

“He is _not_ -“ Severus started angrily before cutting himself off.

 

Draco, well trained in reading other people, smirked at him. God, Severus wanted to smack that smug little bastard in the face. He took a deep breath and trained his face back into a neutral expression.

 

It was too late.

 

“Please tell me you are not developing _feelings_ for this man, Severus,” Draco teased.

 

Severus remained stony-faced and silent.

 

“Oh, Severus,” Draco remarked, pityingly, and shook his head, “father had told me what happens when you develop _feelings_. What a complication…”

 

Severus stared at the floor beneath his feet intently. He also knew what happened when he developed feelings. “What do you want from me, Draco?” he asked, tiredly.

 

“An answer,” came the reply.

 

Severus looked up at the blond man sitting, now oddly attentive, in his armchair.

 

Draco looked at him straight in the eye as he asked his question.

 

“Single or plus one?”

 

 *******

 

Harry bustled nervously around his flat: straightening pillows, smoothing the tablecloth he’d laid, checking on his casserole in the oven. It was almost two weeks since his conversation with Hermione and he’d finally worked up the courage to tell Severus about his depression and mental health issues. He’d seen and, predictably, ended up in bed with Severus since then but had always chickened out of the feared conversation.

 

He’d continued to have the dreams, though less frequently with his occasional use of Dreamless Sleep. He’d noted that even with as infrequently as he’d been using it, a few dreams were still slipping through. He tried not to dwell too much on the green light and the breathless feeling he predictably awoke with. Severus, though he knew Harry had been waking early, had refrained from comment on it beyond thanking Harry for the tea that was always awaiting him.

 

The other man had been clearly preoccupied the last few times they’d met and Harry felt slightly guilty for the looming conversation. Having Harry outline his previous descent into hopelessness, subsequent suicide attempt, and more recent disturbing dreams and hallucinations was not exactly light dinner conversation.

 

The knock at the door startled him despite knowing it was coming. Severus had informed him that he’d be stopping by one of his client’s homes to deliver an order before coming to Harry’s, so he would not be using the Floo.

 

He was frozen for a second before a further rap at the door shocked him out of stasis.

 

Severus was dressed, as he usually was when he ventured into Muggle London, in dress trousers, a light shirt, and a waistcoat. He had forgone a coat, a clear concession to the June-nearly-July heat.

 

Harry grinned widely, compensating poorly for his nervousness. “Severus,” he breathed happy and apprehensive at the same time, “ Come in!”

 

He hurried into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of white wine from the fridge. He was grateful to the modern dispensation to the screw top as his hands were shaking too much to deal with a cork.

 

Severus had not moved much further from the door when Harry pressed a glass of wine into his hand, still holding his own. The bottle floated behind him and he reclaimed it so that he could put it under a Chilling Charm.

 

“I made a tagine,” Harry rambled, his pace pressured and his voice a little louder than normal. He didn’t look at Severus as he spoke. “I hope you like it. It’s a Spanish dish but I guess you know that, probably. I found the recipe in one of Hermione’s books. I thought it looked light enough for the heat. If it’s awful I can get us a take-away, I don’t mind. I don’t have the proper cooking vessel to make it like the Spanish do but-“

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

Harry froze.

 

He turned to look at Severus, his heart suddenly clenched within an icy fist.

 

“But you just got here,” he said weakly. “I thought-“

 

“This isn’t working,” Severus continued in a dead, monotonous voice.

 

“Wh-what?” Harry stammered. The fist around his heart squeezed unforgivingly. Severus had placed his glass of wine on the ledge of the kitchen hatch and was now staring at the floor between Harry’s feet impassively. Harry hurriedly put his own glass and the bottle on the dinner table before he turned back to Severus.

 

He desperately fought the sting of salty tears behind his eyes. He must be mistaken. This just _couldn’t_ be happening.

 

“Our… arrangement,” Severus continued dully, “cannot continue any longer. It is,” he paused, seeming to search for the right word, “untenable.”

 

Harry thought he might vomit. “Arrangement?”

 

He took an unsteady step forward. Severus stepped back. Harry stopped.

 

“You… you can’t be serious?” Harry whispered. “I… I… I lo-”

 

“Do not contact me again,” Severus said harshly.

 

With that, he turned on his heel, opened the door, and left.

 

The door closed with a soft click and Harry stood, frozen in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not hate me.


	11. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The door stayed obstinately closed as he stared at it, willing it to open again and for Severus to come through full of apologies and begging for Harry to ignore what had just happened.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to all of you reading, even with the tough bits! It's heartbreaking to write sometimes but we're about halfway through the story now. This is a Harry chapter; we will get back to Severus but we'll be sticking to Harry for a bit.
> 
> Thank you again! Comments are gold to me. As are kudos and bookmarks. They really do help with the motivation!  
> C.O.

Harry felt like he’d stopped breathing.

 

The door stayed obstinately closed as he stared at it, willing it to open again and for Severus to come through full of apologies and begging for Harry to ignore what had just happened.

 

Harry closed his eyes, drawing in shuddering breaths, and clenched his fists.

 

_‘I’m leaving.’_

He winced.

 

_‘This isn’t working.’_

His fists clenched at his sides.

 

_‘It is… untenable.’_

His gut roiled.

 

_‘Do not contact me again.’_

A burst of uncontrolled fury and sorrow and hatred and love and energy poured out of him.

 

Cracks and bangs and shattering and booms and pops and metallic screeching echoed around him as he stood, still and raging at the world and everyone in it.

 

And then…

 

Silence.

 

Harry let out a long, slow, shuddering breath before he dared to open his eyes.

 

The door was still closed.

 

A whimper from behind him urged him back into action. He turned and immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

The room was in utter ruins. The glass in the windows had shattered and burst in all directions over the room and outside. His sofas and cushions had exploded, spitting out feathers and leather. Along with some of the features, sheaves of paper were floating slowly to the ground from the books that were torn and thrown all over. Howard’s cage was a twisted mess of wire and the terrified Pygmy Puff was cowering in the centre of the disorder.

 

The smell now pervading the room reliably told him that he’d blown up the oven and the tagine with it. In fact, everything in the kitchen seemed to have rotted within the last minute if his nose was telling him the truth. The usual, comforting buzz of his Anti-Apparition and protection wards was missing, and from outside he could hear the honking of multiple car and burglar alarms.

 

The shattered window revealed a bright, sunny day, suitable to late June in London.

 

Harry clenched his jaw painfully hard.

 

And disappeared.

 

 *******

 

The door in front of him opened hesitantly at first and then quickly when the house’s occupant saw who their visitor was.

 

“Harry! What are you doing here?”

 

“Hello,” Harry replied weakly, dripping miserably on Hermione and Ron’s front step. “Can I come in?”

 

Hermione seemed to be fixed in place as she stared at him, holding her dressing gown closed over her nightgown. She was spurred into motion by his question. She ushered him inside and Harry saw Ron standing on the stairs, wand in hand.

 

“Harry, mate!” the redhead cried out, lowering his wand, “What’s going on? It’s one in the morning! Why are you wet?”

 

Harry stepped over the threshold and shivered and dripped some more onto the doormat.

 

“It was raining in Cardiff,” he said, simply.

 

Hermione and Ron, who had descended the rest of the stairs, exchanged a look that spoke of their deep connection. Harry withered a little.

 

“What were you doing in Cardiff?” Hermione asked, baffled and unable to make any connections to Harry’s presence in their home and a midnight trip to Wales.

 

“It was raining in Cardiff,” Harry said again, as though it were obvious.

 

“Harry?” Ron asked, clearly fearing for his friend’s sanity and potentially the safety of his family.

 

“It was too sunny in London,” Harry supplied, though whether it was in answer to his friends or merely a statement was still unclear. “I wanted rain.”

 

Hermione muttered a quick drying spell and all the hairs on Harry’s body stood on end. His hair was sticking out wildly as though he’d been given an electric shock but he still stared into the middle distance, not saying anything.

 

“Harry,” Hermione asked, suddenly much more worried than she had been even when Harry turned up at their door at one in the morning. “What’s happened?”

 

She touched his shoulder and Harry’s eyes snapped up to her face. She tried to suppress a gasp. Harry felt his eyes finally fill with unstoppable, hot tears and his chin trembled.

 

“He left me,” he uttered, almost too quiet for his friends to hear. He suddenly seemed to snap back to reality. “He left me, Hermione. Oh, god…”

 

He clasped a hand to his mouth to stifle his sob but now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. His shoulders shook and bit into his fingers. Ron looked to Hermione, clearly panicked to see his best friend weeping so violently. Harry didn’t really tend to cry.

 

“Who left you?” Ron asked.

 

“Ronald!” Hermione said harshly, before pulling Harry forward by his free hand and wrapping her arms around him protectively. “Go put the kettle on,” she told Ron, stroking Harry’s hair.

 

She gently led him into the living room and settled him onto the settee. She quickly sat beside him and tugged him back into her embrace, rocking him gently as though he were Rose and not a fully-grown man.

 

Ron came wandered back into the room, floating three cups of tea behind him. He set them onto the coffee table and sat in the armchair at right angles to them. He shifted the chair round so he could lean in to the group more easily.

 

As Harry calmed, Hermione’s embrace relaxed and Harry leaned back, sniffing forcefully. He reached a shaky hand towards one of the mugs of tea and lifted it, using both hands to minimise the trembling.

 

His friends watched him silently, with anxiety clearly written on their faces as he sipped the tea. “Thanks,” he muttered putting the mug down, sloshing a little liquid on the table.

 

Hermione ignored it.

 

“Harry,” she said, coaxingly, “what happened?”

 

Ron nodded vigorously beside her, keen to help.

 

“Well, you know I was… seeing someone,” Harry choked out.

 

Hermione apparently hadn’t disclosed to Ron that he had been in a relationship because he looked utterly clueless and shocked as he gaped at Harry. Well, Harry supposed ruefully, he’d _thought_ he was in a relationship. Apparently it had been an ‘arrangement’.

 

“He told me it was over,” he whispered miserably. “Told me it was ‘untenable’. He said not to contact him again.”

 

Hermione gripped his hand suddenly, “Oh, Harry.”

 

Harry stared attentively at the pattern on Ron and Hermione’s carpet.

 

“Oh, mate, that’s shit,” Ron commiserated, “what a wanker.”

 

Harry let out a wet laugh but pressed his hand into his eyes.

 

“Ow! What was that for?!”

 

Hermione had clearly cuffed Ron over the head because when Harry looked up he was rubbing his ear and glaring at his wife. She glared back equally as fiercely. She glanced pointedly at Harry and then hit Ron again. “OUCH!”

 

Harry managed to muster a small laugh and they both looked at him. “At least some things don’t change,” he said, shrugging.

 

They relaxed across from him and looked fondly at each other. Harry looked away sadly as they exchanged a small kiss, soothing any of their misdemeanours.  

 

They seemed to recognise his discomfort and sorrow because Hermione took his hand again and smoothed her thumb over his knuckles.

 

“I know you really liked him, Harry,” she said.

 

Harry laughed derisively. “I love him, Hermione,” he stated plainly. Ron gasped and swore under his breath. “I think I might still be in a bit of shock. I was going to tell him about everything, Hermione,” he said, meeting her gaze, “You know, the hospital and everything. But I didn’t get the chance. He… left before I got to say.”

 

He sighed, “I tried to tell him I loved him but he wouldn’t hear it. I don’t know what to do now.”

 

The room was silent for a time.

 

Ron suddenly slapped his thighs and stood up, authoritatively, “Right, this calls for whisky.”

 

“Ron…” Hermione started in a reprimanding tone. She looked like she was about to tell Ron off and Harry didn’t want any more arguments between his friends.

 

“It’s Snape,” Harry said abruptly: it was the only thing he could think of to prevent a fight.

 

Hermione and Ron stared back at him, their expressions a mix of shock and horror at his outburst. Hermione suddenly turned to Ron, “Whisky, please?”

 

“No,” Ron uttered vaguely, still looking at Harry in disbelief, “Vodka. This calls for vodka…” He staggered out of the room, stumbling into the doorframe as he went, eyes wide and mouth moving silently in dismay.

 

Harry looked back at Hermione, whose mouth was thankfully closed. However, she was regarding him with an uncertain expression that made Harry feel dreadfully uncomfortable and horribly thankful that he hadn’t told them about Severus before. Though, he supposed he might not have just blurted it out to stop them from fighting if circumstances were different.

 

Ron stomped back in, now clutching three tumblers and a bottle of Romanian liquor that sported a title vaguely reminiscent of the word ‘vodka’. He silently poured three healthy measures out and passed them to Harry and Hermione. Ron, surprisingly Hermione, downed the clear liquid immediately. Hermione spluttered genteelly and Ron just poured himself another shot.

 

Harry shrugged, feeling vaguely numb, and decided that it couldn’t hurt. He was wrong. He coughed violently and winced as the burning liquid scorched his oesophagus. He pushed his empty glass further away, still letting out small sputtering coughs.

 

“SNAPE?!”

 

Ron’s outburst caused both Hermione and Harry to jump in their seats. Hermione looked suddenly to the ceiling, listening for any disturbance from Rose’s room.

 

There was only silence and it was left to Harry to answer the question.

 

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah,” he said, “Would you believe me if I said he’s actually alright?”

 

“Not now that the prick has broken up with you!” Ron exclaimed, though slightly more quietly to avoid the wrath of his wife and the crying of his baby. “I’m not even going to ask what you saw in him because it’s now my duty as a best friend to slag him off anyway. I mean, I know people who can have him killed if that’s what you want?” Ron looked deadly serious. “Just say the word and he’s gone, mate.”

 

Harry let out an uproarious laugh that slowly turned back into a sob.

 

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” Ron said sympathetically, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s worse because I can’t stop loving him,” Harry wept, “Merlin, I’m so bloody pathetic! It would be so much easier if I could hate him even a little bit.”

 

Ron moved round so he was sitting on the sofa and Harry was sandwiched between his two best friends. They both embraced him as he cried bitter, angry, loving tears until the sun breached the horizon.

 

 *******

 

It turned out that Harry had managed to blow out the power to the entire building and half the windows on his floor. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had been alerted almost immediately by Harry’s uncontrolled blast of magic and he could hear Ron telling Hermione that Harry must have just got out of the flat before they arrived.

 

He was now pretending to sleep on the magically extended couch, which Hermione had made up into a bed for him whilst Ron had gone to his flat to retrieve what he could before the Ministry got their hands on it. The items retrieved included his Invisibility Cloak, the photo album Hagrid had given to him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, and a rather distressed Howard. Harry’s broom and most of his potions equipment had also been victims of the discharge of his power.

 

He stroked Howard, who was licking his nose in commiseration, and listened to Hermione and Ron’s hushed conversation.

 

“It was a disaster area, Hermione,” Ron said sadly, keeping his tone low. “Almost everything is unsalvageable. The Squad was talking about bringing in the Curse Breakers – apparently they’re having trouble reversing some of the effects. The Obliviators were working on getting the Muggles to believe it was some kind of limited gas explosion.”

 

Harry heard Hermione sigh deeply. “Do they want to take him in, Ron? Surely they’ll at least want to question him? Do they know it’s his house?”

 

“I managed to convince them I was there on official Auror business, I think, but I dunno,” Ron replied, clearly tired. Harry heard the sound of a chair scraping on the kitchen floor and he reckoned Ron must have sat down. He felt a pang on guilt for keeping his friends up all night with his problems.

 

Howard’s nose nudged his own and Harry gave the small Pygmy Puff a sad, cross-eyed look as he tried to get him in focus so close up.

 

“Do Pygmy Puffs have to deal with this kind of thing, Howie?” he whispered gloomily.

 

Howard trilled despondently in reply. Harry scratched behind the tiny ears and his pet started to vibrate pleasantly beside him. “I wish scratching my ears worked for me like it does for you.”

 

“Harry?” Hermione called out from the kitchen. “Are you awake?”

 

Harry sighed and swung himself into a sitting position, putting his glasses back on and picking Howard up to continue petting the little creature. “Yeah, ‘Mione, I’m awake!” he called back. His friends entered their living room sporting matching worried faces. “I heard about the flat,” he told them, “Guess it’ll be a while before I can go back.”

 

He saw Ron and Hermione exchange glances and hurried added, “Don’t worry, guys, I’ll be getting out of your hair today.”

 

“No, that’s not-“ Hermione tried to say but Harry ignored her.

 

“Grimmauld Place should be okay for the time being,” he continued, “I’ve been meaning to get on with the renovations but I guess I’ve been distracted…”

 

He trailed off, trying desperately not to think about who had been taking up so much of his time the last few months.

 

“That place is barely more habitable than your flat is at the minute, Harry,” Ron said, “It’s still a bloody death trap and you’ve not managed to get rid of Mrs Black’s portrait yet, have you?”

 

“It’ll be fine, Ron,” Harry affirmed, having already made up his mind and unwilling to hear any argument of an alternative. He wouldn’t be a burden on anyone, he decided.

 

“What about the Burrow? Mum would be more than happy to have you! She’s desperate for someone to look after,” Ron suggested, a slightly desperate timbre to his voice.

 

Harry shook his head, “No, it’s fine. Besides, I don’t want your mum and dad to know about why it happened. In fact, I don’t want _anyone_ to know. They’d only feel sorry for me or even think I was mental for dating Severus Snape and never talk to me again.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Hermione said tetchily, “Of course they would talk to you again. I can’t think at the moment what it was that drew you together but you obviously loved him. Nobody can blame you for who you love.”

 

Harry gave her a sceptical look but didn’t say anything more. He heaved himself off the sofa and placed Howard on his shoulder. He ran a hand over the beginnings of stubble on his face before picking up his jacket and wand.

 

“Thanks for letting me stay for a while, anyway,” he said, not looking at them, “Mind if I borrow something to transfigure a cage for Howard? Just to get him to Number 12 and then I can go back to the Menagerie in Diagon Alley.”

 

“Harry,” Hermione tried again, pleadingly, but she stopped on seeing the stubborn set of Harry’s jaw. Instead, she sighed and went to kitchen where should found a teaspoon. She reluctantly handed it to Harry who changed it into a carry cage and set Howard into it.

 

“Can I use your Floo?” he asked, clutching the cage to his chest. Howard whimpered inside, unsure of his new home. Harry briefly thought he was about to be much more insecure when they got to Grimmauld Place.

 

“Just remember to call, Harry,” Hermione said kindly as Ron held out the small box that contained their Floo powder.

 

“Of course,” Harry said, giving them a shaky smile, “I promise.”

 

*******

 

Grimmauld Place was truly living up to its reputation so far, Harry thought. He’d identified the most habitable room, which happened to be the one he and Ron had shared in the summer and Christmas holidays before and before and during their Fifth Year, and chose to make this his bedroom for now.

 

He didn’t bother to transfigure either of the twin beds, deciding that he’d be sleeping alone anyway so he wouldn’t need a bigger bed.

 

The rest of the bedrooms were either in states of semi-completed renovation or had become so infested with, as yet, unidentified creatures that Harry would need to spend months of dedicated eradication time to make them anywhere near acceptable for human habitation.

 

Howard was warbling unhappily in his transfigured cage on one of the bedside tables. Harry couldn’t blame the poor thing for being less than pleased with their new accommodations. He felt much the same.

 

Harry had once told himself that he’d never live in Grimmauld Place after what Sirius had told him and with the memories they whole house carried for him. Even if he could overlook the near-constant screaming of a bigoted and insane portrait and the perpetual risk of tripping one of the Black Family’s many traps and curses, Harry could never be in the house without triggering his memories of Sirius and the part he’d played in the man’s death.

 

He understood exactly why Ron and Hermione had reservations about him staying in the creepy old house; he even shared a fair few of them. But he would be thrice damned before he encumbered his friends and surrogate family with his miserable arse.

 

Harry would be fine. He’d decided this quite firmly, stating it over and over in his mind the previous night until it just had to be true.

 

Harry _was_ fine.

 

Howard continued to whimper pitifully in his cage so Harry retrieved him and held him close to where his heart beat. When Rose was first born, Hermione had told him that babies like to be held as close as possible. Apparently it reminded them of the womb or something. Harry hoped it might be the same for juvenile Pygmy Puffs as well.

 

He made his way down the stairs to the kitchens, taking care not to make any noise as he passed the covered portrait of Walburga Black. He couldn’t be bothered dealing with her hatred being disgorged at him right now.

 

He reached the kitchen to find it entirely covered in a fine layer of dust. Harry sighed and had a fleeting wish that he hadn’t told Kreacher to stay at Hogwarts rather than try to service the empty, sprawling house. Kreacher at least knew how to make a decent sandwich and Harry doubted very much that the fridge was filled with anything that wasn’t decomposed and sprouting its own colonies.

 

There was probably more life on some of the things in the fridge than in Harry’s heart right now, he thought bitterly.

 

No, that wasn’t right. Harry _was fine_.

 

He popped Howard onto his shoulder and flicked a quick dusting spell over the room before he flopped onto one of the now dust-free chairs. Howard let out a little yelp of protest from his shoulder as the movement joggled him.

 

“Ouch!” Harry squeaked as Howard’s surprisingly sharp nails dug into his skin though his shirt. The Pygmy Puff licked his cheek apologetically. Or at least, Harry thought it was apologetically.

 

“Sorry, Howard, I know this isn’t exactly the lap of luxury but we’ll make it work, yeah?” he said glumly, “A bit of paint and attention and we’ll be okay.”

 

The unexpected sound of the Floo flaring next door caused Harry to jump to his feet reflexively. He pointed his wand unerringly at the door, ignoring the sharp claws in his shoulder and the displeased growl next to his ear.

 

“Harry?” Ron called out, “Hey, you here, mate?”

 

Harry frowned. What on earth could have made Ron visit him so soon after he’d left?

 

Ron’s red head popped round the side of the kitchen door. “Woah, mate, I’m not going to hex you!”

 

Harry scowled in confusion but then realised his wand was still pointed at the door – well, now right at Ron’s face. He lowered it slowly.

 

“What’s going on, Ron?” He was a little annoyed. Didn’t they trust him to look after himself for even an hour?

 

“It’s mum and dad,” he said apologetically, “Dad heard about the Accidental Magical Reversal Squab being deployed to your address and when they said about not finding an owner, he panicked. Mum’s a bit beside herself worrying about what happened to you.” Ron shrugged sheepishly, “I tried to calm her down but she won’t hear it and only wants to see you. To make sure you’re fine.”

 

“I _am_ fine,” Harry replied quickly.

 

“Please, mate,” Ron said pleadingly, “she’ll keep bending my ear until you Firecall her at least.”

 

Harry sighed but acquiesced. “I’ll pop over, Ron. Just let me put Howard back in his cage. His ball got kind of… massacred I suspect,” he directed his glare to the floor because he couldn’t give it to himself. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to leave him to find to the tender mercies of this death trap.”

 

*******

 

It turned out that there was no such thing as just ‘popping over’ to Molly and Arthur Weasley’s house these days. Especially when you’d just demolished your own flat.

 

Harry ended up spending three hours at the Burrow, fending off the constant fussing of a near-hysterical Molly Weasley.

 

“I was so worried, dear! Anything could have happened to you! Why didn’t you come straight here?” she cried, though Harry couldn’t respond as his face was squashed into Molly’s ample breasts as she clutched him with an iron grip. “We’d have looked after you, of course!”

 

“Mm nihe, Mrph Weephy!” he said but was too muffled for it to have made any sense at all. He’d tried to tell her he was _fine_. Because he was. Fine.

 

Except it was getting difficult to breathe properly…

 

Thankfully, Molly released him at that moment, though still kept him close, smoothing his hair and running a hand over his stubble. “You’re not fine, dear,” she said briskly. Harry felt a small chink form in his armour at the words but Molly continued. “You need looked after. What happened? Did someone try to attack you? Who did it, Harry? Arthur can tell the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and we’ll get it sorted with the Aurors. They’re having a little trouble fixing some of the things I heard – some very powerful curses were placed apparently.”

 

Harry flushed a bright shade of red and avoided her eyes.

 

“Um, it was me, Mrs Weasley,” he said quietly. “I did it.”

 

She looked at him in disbelief. “What? But… why?”

 

“I was, um, angry,” he admitted, “And upset. It was an accident.”

 

“But it’s never happened before when you’ve been upset!” Molly cried

 

That, Harry thought to himself, wasn’t strictly true. Ron had told him he’d destroyed the bathroom he’d been in when he’d tried to kill himself. It was only the water dripping into the flat below that had alerted the neighbours who’d saved his life that anything was wrong.

 

There was still the occasional rattle or crack of objects when he was distressed in any way – like the mirror and toothbrushes in the top bathroom of the Burrow. But nothing had ever happened on the scale it had last night.

 

“I was _really_ upset,” Harry said flatly but hurriedly corrected himself, “But I’m absolutely fine now!”

 

She had seemed sceptical but had then ushered Harry to the dinner table. He supposed that was one of the pluses of coming to the Burrow: he could wait until tomorrow to go food shopping.

 

Molly had piled the table with enough food to feed a family of nine, not just the three of them (“You’re so thin, dear – have some more potatoes.”). Arthur had shaken his hand and given him a supportive pat on the back, letting Harry know he was glad that Harry was okay.

 

Mrs Weasley had tried to pry the cause of his magical detonation out of him but Harry managed to distract her from it eventually. He’d asked about how Fleur was doing and fought his way through polite conversation about Ginny and Michael’s relationship. He strove to remain calm when Molly starting talking about Garret again and then glady told her about Teddy.

 

He was just getting to the point where he felt might explode himself from the effort of being so damned placcid when he saw Arthur yawn across the table. He seized his opportunity with both hands.

 

“I don’t want to take up any more of your time, Mrs Weasley. Mr Weasley must have work in the morning,” he gestured towards Arthur, who was now stifling another yawn behind his hand, “Thank you for the dinner, but I’d best get home.”

 

_To blow a hole in something inanimate before it turns out to be my own head…_

 

“But aren’t you staying, dear?” Molly asked, confused, “I thought-“

 

“Thank you, but I’ve decided to stay at Grimmauld Place,” Harry cut in.

 

“That horrible old place?!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed in unmistakeable horror. “But-“

 

“Molly,” Arthur said gently as he placed a hand over his wife’s, “It’s Harry’s home. He’s a grown man who isn’t used to living under a parent’s roof.”

 

Harry nodded at him appreciatively, “Yeah, It’s not so bad. I’ll be fine. Besides, I left Howard there. I’ll need to get back to him.”

 

Mrs Weasley didn’t look at all happy about it but eventually conceded that Harry wasn’t going to stay at the Burrow no matter how much she wanted or tried to persuade him to do so.

 

When Harry did finally manage to get through the Floo to Grimmauld Place, he was laden with packages of leftover food, all carefully spelled to prevent spills and prolong preservation, and a reminder to come to the Burrow to help celebrate Mr and Mrs Weasley’s 35th wedding anniversary in just over two weeks.

 

He dropped his substantial culinary burden onto the kitchen table before going to check on Howard in his bedroom.

 

His face fell as soon as he entered the room. Howard was cowering in the corner of his cage; tiny front paws over his eyes and shaking violently. He was emitting a keening, pitiful wail and Harry’s heart broke.

 

He rushed to the free the poor creature, holding his tightly to his chest over his heart and whispering nonsense words to him. Howard’s shaking subsided only a little and his cries diminished into whimpers.

 

Harry sat down on his bed, stroking the fluffy fur obsessively. “I’m sorry, Howard,” he muttered quietly, “I’m sorry. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

 

He felt the tears dripping from his chin before he realised he was crying again. “I’ll be fine,” he told himself softly, not noticing that Howard had finally settled, “I’m fine.”

 


	12. The Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'He’d settled for fixing the simple things the Muggle way, which, fortuitously, took up more time than if he’d used magic. He thought that working with his hands would have a soothing, cathartic effect. That’s what a lot of books said anyway.' 
> 
> Harry keeps himself busy with varying degrees of success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and feedback. Another Harry chapter but Severus next.
> 
> Hope you're all still enjoying this.  
> C.O.

He was running.

 

He couldn’t see to where but he could see gnarled, leafless trees on either side of him. There was a light ahead and behind was a mess of trees and shrubs and darkness. Leaves on the ground crunched under his feet as he ran.

 

He had to run; he knew he did. He had to be somewhere. To… see.

 

So he was running.

 

His hair swept back off his head as a cold breeze swept past him and now he could hear his panting breaths and pounding heart in his ears. The wind chilled his face and ears.

 

 _Stop._ _You’re here again._

 

He stopped and looked around.

 

He stood at the edge of a clearing. It was dark but he knew it wasn’t empty, though he could see no one. But he could hear… something.

 

“ _Avada kedavra!_ ”

 

Green light flashed and he was blinded and…

 

*******

 

“SHIT!”

 

Harry sucked his thumb into his mouth and dropped the hammer. It thudded onto the floor beside his foot. “Ow, ow, ow…”

 

He glared at the nail he had been trying to hammer into place as part of his renovations on Grimmauld Place. He’d gotten fed up of his jeans catching on the damn thing every time he passed this particular section of the bannister. He supposed he could have fixed it magically but he’d naively thought that working with his hands would keep his mind more fully occupied.

 

Well, he supposed his mind was occupied with a sore thumb now. He continued to let out a stream of mild expletives. It wasn’t like there was really anyone around to hear him anyway.

 

Harry had left Howard with Ron and Hermione a few days ago: the poor thing had been utterly terrified whenever he was left alone in the house. It had become so bad that he refused to be anywhere but on Harry’s shoulder, chest, or lap, which was quite restrictive. When he’d dropped the Pygmy Puff off at his friends’ house, Hermione had initially fussed over the state of his hair, which desperately needed a trim, and asking whether he’d been sleeping or eating properly. At the time Harry had been a little miffed at the implication but then he had passed a mirror at Grimmauld Place the other day and it had hissed at him. He’d tried not to care but mostly had to resist the urge to hiss back in the most vitriolic Parsletongue he could muster.

 

He’d relented in trimming his hair, though he’d had to deal with another mirror’s invective as he did so.

 

The loss of his Potions equipment had hit him hard, as he wasn’t able to brew Dreamless Sleep anymore, and the nightmares were coming thick and fast, leading to state of permanent fatigue. It wasn’t just the one where he was running, either. Harry wasn’t convinced he’d managed more than a couple of hours of sleep a night for the last week and a bit. The main problem with buying Dreamless Sleep or any other sleep or anxiety medicating potion at any reputable apothecary was the horrendous mark-up on their products. At less respectable places you put yourself at risk of being poisoned – either accidently or on purpose. Harry wasn’t willing to try either, mostly due to his remaining sense of pride.

 

He had tried to fill in his many free hours by looking through the extensive library contained within the study at Grimmauld Place. He’d had limited success. The books that didn’t immediately try to curse his eyebrows off were usually filled with pictures of curses and hexes so gruesome that Harry had actually vomited after looking at one. He’d thought that, over the years, various people had done a good job of removing the majority of the most malevolent traps set by the Black Family but he just seemed to discover more every day.

 

So he’d settled for fixing the simple things the Muggle way, which, fortuitously, took up more time than if he’d used magic. He thought that working with his hands would have a soothing, cathartic effect. That’s what a lot of books said anyway.

 

Though, he hadn’t literally meant to do anything _to_ his hands but the hope he’d come out of this project unscathed had sailed long ago. He sported innumerable cuts and grazes on his hands and arms, one particularly nasty splinter wound on the fleshy part of his palm, a couple of head wounds from falling books, and now a bruised and swollen thumb.

 

And to top it all off, he heard the not so dulcet tones of Mrs Black echoing up the stairs from her portrait. His shout and the dropping of the hammer had probably been enough to wake up the old bitch.

 

Harry sighed deeply and got to his feet. He pulled his wand from behind his ear and muttered a quick healing spell on his thumb. It gave him instant relief and he flexed his abused digit with gay abandon.

 

 _Wish it worked on my head and heart as well_.

 

He glowered at the thumb and then dropped his hand. Mrs Black’s shouting was growing in volume, vehemence, and vulgarity now. Harry snorted out an irritated breath before stomping down the stairs as loudly as he could. The evil old hag was already awake so it didn’t matter how much noise he made now.

 

He stood at the foot of the stair and glared his most deadly glare at the ugly painting. He’d tried many times to remove it or have it removed. Harry was sure that Sirius had gone through most of the spells and experienced a similar lack of success. At one point, Harry had considered just torching the whole thing but eventually decided that fire probably wasn’t the right solution in this case.

 

“Foul! Filthy half-blood worm!” Mrs Black screeched and moaned, “How dare you besmirch these halls with your indecency?”

 

“Yeah, well I don’t much like you, either,” said Harry despite knowing she wasn’t listening. It seemed unfair that he could destroy his entire home with a burst of magic but couldn’t remove this obnoxious painting from his hall.

 

“Dirty! Tainted child of ill union! Unclean Mudblood faggot!”

 

Harry’s face fell into a blank expression. His right eye twitched.

 

“Corrupted blood of the pure! Obscene offspring of the unclean!”

 

“That’s it,” he said to himself quietly, anger seeping through his entire being, making his fingers and toes tingle with unreleased magic. “That. Is. It.”

 

Without caring that he was dressed in his work shorts and a tank top, Harry stuffed his wand into his pocket, retrieved his Muggle wallet from the tall table beside the door and stormed out of the house, ignoring the continued ranting.

 

That bitch would get what was coming to her.

 

*******

 

Harry sat, content and proud, on the stairs nursing his chilled beer. He rested both elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his free hand. He allowed a small smile to play on his lips as he sat.

 

“Harry? Harry, you in?” Ron’s voice called from the drawing room.

 

“The hall, mate!” Harry shouted back, staying put on his step. Ron came into the hall and did a double take when he saw Harry.

 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” he said, “You should eat something and get outside, mate.”

 

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

 

Ron gave him a disapproving look that Harry usually associated with Hermione. “Have you seen yourself lately? I know you’ve always been a bit of a weedy bloke but you’re taking that to a new extreme. And when did you last see the big yellow ball in the sky we like to call ‘the sun’?”

 

Harry surveyed himself, taking in his arms and the visible bits of his chest. True, he’d lost a bit of weight – how could he not? He had very little appetite, which he’d put down to his permanent state of sleep deprivation, and he’d been working hard on fixing the house. He didn’t think it was that bad. Maybe it was just the tank top that made it look worse.

 

Harry shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “I’ll get a takeaway later,” he told Ron. “What brought you round?”

 

Ron didn’t look particularly reassured but answered Harry’s question. “Just wanted to make sure you were still okay for mum and dad’s anniversary party on Saturday. Mum keeps asking me to ask you. You haven’t been available for her Firecalls apparently.”

 

Harry looked away guiltily. He’d not _meant_ to avoid all of Mrs Weasley’s calls. But she did call a lot and there were only so many times Harry could tell her about his day when he did the same thing over and over again, day in and out. “Sorry, Ron, mustn’t have heard the Floo. But yeah, I’ll be there.”

 

Ron grinned happily. “Great, ‘cause she’s desperate for you to be there,” he frowned a bit, “Actually, I think she wants _you_ there more than me.” He gave Harry a good-natured scowl before he was brought up short.

 

“Wait a second. Why is it so quiet in here?” he asked suspiciously.

 

Harry tipped his beer and nodded towards the wall behind Ron before taking a long, smug sip. Ron turned and gasped.

 

“Harry!” he exclaimed in astonishment, “What have you done?”

 

Ron was gaping at the blank canvas that was situated exactly where the portrait of Walburga Black had been balling her hessian lungs from just a few hours ago. The frame stayed stuck to the wall; the moth-eaten curtains hung open on either side. But most importantly: there was no Walburga.

 

“Got rid of the old crone,” Harry said frankly and took another sip of his beer.

 

“But… but _how?!”_ Ron spun around to face him again and Harry smiled at him placidly.

 

“Turps,” he replied shortly. “And a bit of sandpaper to take off the initial layer of evil bigoted pureblood.”

 

It gave Harry undue pleasure that the vile and offensive Mrs Black had been finally defeated by something so mundane and Muggle as turpentine.

 

Ron was still staring at him, now looking somewhere between astonished and afraid. “How come you’re so calm? What’s going on?”

 

“It’s not that big a deal, Ron,” he said offhandedly, “I just got tired of her calling me a filthy half-blood faggot and decided to give it a go. Might still be sitting here with the odious thing if it hadn’t worked. ”

 

“What are you going to do with the frame?” Ron asked, still looking uncertain. Harry got the distinct feeling he wanted to run off and tell Hermione that Harry appeared to have truly lost his mind.

 

Harry shrugged. “Maybe paint over the canvas? The frame’s stuck fast: no way to get it off without wrecking a loadbearing wall. I’ll decide later,” he said dismissively, “At least I can get on with the rest of the house in peace now.”

 

“I suppose,” said Ron hesitantly, “At least you don’t have to creep down the stairs anymore for breakfast.”

 

Harry nodded, though he honestly couldn’t remember if he’d eaten breakfast recently. “Fancy a beer?” he asked Ron, who had gone back to gawking at the portrait’s empty frame.

 

“No, thanks, mate. Got to get back to the missus. Dinner’s on,” the redhead grinned.

 

“No problem,” Harry said, though the bottom dropped out of his stomach. “See you at your mum’s on Saturday.”

 

Harry stayed sitting on his step as Ron left, staring at the blank canvas, his beer forgotten, and tried not to feel lonely.

 

*******

 

Harry pushed his food around his plate with his chopsticks.

 

He’d done as promised and gotten a takeaway, mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to cook rather than because he was actually hungry. He was so tired his appetite was nearly always overwhelmed by exhaustion.

 

He poked despondently at a bit of chicken before pushing the entire plate away with a sigh.

 

It wasn’t like it mattered anyway, he thought. Very little actually seemed to matter. His life had become an endless cycle of DIY and nightmares.

 

He truly was pathetic. He was worthless.

 

Harry scowled darkly at the plate and had a vision of himself throwing it against the wall and watching as the noodles slipped messily down the wall. The urge was almost overwhelming.

 

Instead, he banished the contents of the plate and dumped the garish bit of crockery in the sink to wash later. He’d never liked the plates but saw little point in replacing them. It did mean he had to look at the Black Family crest being slowly revealed as he ate anything. He supposed that might not be helping his appetite.

 

Harry grabbed another bottle of beer and made his way up to the drawing room. It was the least depressing room the house at the moment, including his bedroom. That wasn’t saying much, really, but it did have a fairly comfortable sofa that was calling Harry’s name.

 

Not literally, he thought thankfully. He’d had a blessed couple of days free of hearing the accusatory whispers he’d become somewhat used to recently. He had wondered if he’d actually seen Lavender Brown when he’d been at the DIY shop earlier but she’d been gone when he’d tried to look more closely. Though, Lavender had died, so it couldn’t have been her, just someone who looked like her. _Really_ , _really_ , like her…

 

He sank into the cushions of the couch with a sigh and closed his eyes. The house was too quiet. Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to truly miss the obscene screeching of Mrs Black, but he did miss his radio. He doubted that a Muggle radio would actually work in Grimmauld Place with all the residual magic lurking about. Maybe he should get another Wireless and just put up with the Wizard news.

 

He opened his eyes and stared at the stained, cracked ceiling. He grimaced when he wondered exactly what had made one stain in particular. He guessed it would be nothing pleasant.

 

No matter what he did, he felt like he wasn’t making any real progress at 12 Grimmauld Place. His success with Mrs Black’s portrait this afternoon had been utterly unprecedented but it didn’t fill him with hope of future success.

 

Harry had to wonder if there was any point in putting this much effort into the renovations. Sure, he’d been aiming to make it somewhere habitable to pass on to Teddy when he was old enough to need somewhere to stay, but the longer Harry spent in the creaking old wreck, he became less convinced it would be a kindness to foist the place on his godson. It was more of a tomb than a home.

 

He wasn’t particularly sure about the point of anything much at all. Whenever he tried to sleep, he was awoken by nightmares and flashbacks. Whenever he tried to eat he couldn’t work up an appetite through the haze of tiredness and lethargy. He only really kept up with trying to fix the house because it kept his mind occupied, not because he wanted to live there. He wasn’t sure how successful it really was at doing even that anymore.

 

He wished, not for the first time, that he could be back in his flat. The place was still swarming with Ministry officials and Gringotts Cursebreakers who were trying to breakdown whatever curses he’d managed to cast on the place in his despair.

 

Harry had to wonder what was so wrong with him that Severus had wanted to leave. Had he been too clingy? Had he said something? How long had Severus been planning to break off their relationship? No, wait, he thought bitterly – it had been an _arrangement_.

 

How could he have ben so stupid, so naïve?

 

It would be much easier if he could switch off his brain for a bit – permanently wouldn’t be a bad length of time. It would stop the guilt and the sadness and the anger. He’d settle for nothingness over all that mess.

 

He tried every day to tell himself that he was fine. Sometimes he thought that being ‘fine’ shouldn’t be so hard.

 

*******

 

The Burrow was filled with even more energy than the usual Saturday buzz that week. As well as the usual Weasley family, significant others, children, and Harry, a fair number of Molly and Arthur’s friends and colleagues had come to join the celebrations.

 

A tent similar to, though smaller than, the one used at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, was set up in the garden and Hermione, Fleur, and, surprisingly, Charlie, had all taken control of the kitchen. They’d barred Molly from stepping anywhere near it and had, instead, pushed a glass of elf-made fizzy wine into her hand and pushed her towards the dance floor with Arthur.

 

Harry laughed at their antics as they danced, without care or thought of embarrassment. He’d offered to help in the kitchen, having gained some vague talent in that department through his life, but he too had been pointed away and told to make merry.

 

He hadn’t missed Charlie’s concerned glance and the hushed conversation with Hermione that followed. He tried not to think about it.

 

So he sat at one of the smaller tables, waiting for the final guests to arrive and the food to be served. He watched as Teddy ran around and played with the other children, totally oblivious that Andromeda would kill him for ruining his nice robes. Andromeda herself was seated a few tables away, chatting to some old friends of Molly’s from school. She’d been a few years behind the Weasleys at school but knew a few of the others from Quidditch and other various school clubs.

 

Luna, Rolf, and Luna’s father were sitting at another table; they had cornered one of the Weasley cousins. By the look on the young man’s face he wasn’t entirely comfortable and Harry wondered what creatures the trio were telling him about. In fact, now the young man seemed to have lost all colour from his face and seemed to be looking for the nearest escape route. Harry grinned. The Lovegoods were a little overwhelming the first time you met them.

 

Ron was spinning Rose around the wooden dance floor, laughing giddily at her hysterical giggling at the motion. It made Harry smile as well.

 

Someone took the seat next to him and when he turned, Harry saw George Weasley grinning wildly at him. The blue eyes sparkled with mirth and Harry couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“Harry,” George greeted him jovially, “how are you, old chap? Seen the latest sales figures for the shop? I tell you, Ron’ll be knocking at my door before you know it! I can pay him much better than that bloody Ministry. Bunch of tossers.”

 

Harry accepted and returned the chink of glasses with George as they toasted the success of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. It was, after all, thanks to Harry that Fred and George had first managed to set up in business. Of course, George could probably pay him back ten-fold these days and still have galleons tucked down the back of his sofa.

 

“He’s not really said much to me about the MLE lately. Hermione told me there have been a couple of issues and she mentioned Ron helping you,” Harry confirmed. He took a sip of his fizzy wine and felt the bubbles go straight to his head. That was the problem with elf-made wine – it tended to hit the brain pretty quickly thanks to the magic.

 

“Ron probably doesn’t want to worry you, Harry,” George said pacifyingly, “Knows you’ve got a lot on.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked defensively.

 

George looked a bit awkward but quickly tried to mollify Harry, “Nothing, Harry, nothing. Ronnikins just doesn’t really let on how things can bother him, that’s all.”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes and put his glass down. Ron knew plenty well how to show his emotions. He shook his head. “No, no I think you meant something else. What did you mean?” he asked, suddenly quite irritated.

 

George put his hands up apologetically, “Nothing, really. Only…” he trailed off.

 

“’Only’ what?” Harry pursued, his good mood entirely gone.

 

“Only… anyone can see you’re not doing great, Harry,” George said quietly. He looked like he was about to touch Harry on the shoulder but then thought better of it. His hand fell to his lap. “Look, I know what it’s like to get so low and to not care about what happens to you,” George continued, “When Fred… After Fred died, I was just a wreck; you know that. I just don’t want you to go through that kind of thing without knowing we’re here for you.”

 

Harry deflated slightly but was still annoyed. He was _fine_ and he’d be even better when people started believing him. If Ron were worried that talking about the stress of his job would send Harry over the edge, he’d need to think again. Harry didn’t want people worrying about him at all but the exact opposite of that seemed to be happening.

 

He was saved from replying to George by the much-heralded arrival of the food. Charlie led the small group of people who were floating platters and platters of delicious-smelling dishes between them. Harry wasn’t sure how the serving tables were going to cope under the weight of it all without the aid of magic.

 

He turned to apologise to George but found himself confronted with an empty seat. Damn, he’d have to look him out later to make amends. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him to snap at the other man like that.

 

A tinkle of a spoon on glass drew the attention of the entire crowd and Harry found himself with a lapful of Teddy Lupin, who had run over to him to get off the makeshift dance floor where Arthur and Molly were now standing. He settled Teddy onto his lap and turned his attention back to the two oldest Weasleys.

 

“Well,” Arthur said, grinning from ear to ear, “Molly and I would like to thank you all for coming. We truly are overwhelmed by the number of you who wanted to celebrate with us today.” He raised his glass of wine to the crowd who did likewise to him. Mrs Weasley was looking rather flushed at his side. Harry suspected she’d already had a couple glasses too many of elf-wine!

 

“Of course, we have to acknowledge those who are not with us but who we wish could be,” continued Arthur, more solemnly, “To absent friends.”

 

There was a general chinking of glasses as people toasted missing friends and family. Harry swallowed hard, remembering Fred and Remus and Tonks amongst others.   Teddy wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and shifted himself up, closer to his godfather. Harry hugged him back, glad of the small comfort.

 

“But happier times are with us,” said Arthur, though he still looked a little glassy eyed. “I would like to thank Molly, first off, for giving me 35 wonderful years. We’ve had our troubles, sometimes in sets,” he smiled teasingly down at his wife, “but I couldn’t wish to spend my life with anyone else.”

 

A gentle round of applause followed as Molly pecked Arthur on the lips and then blushed furiously.

 

“I’d like to thank our wonderful children and their partners for organising this day. We couldn’t be prouder of you.” Cheers and whistles from Bill, Charlie, George, and Ron followed this announcement.

 

“And finally,” Arthur began but Mrs Weasley interrupted.

 

“For heavens sake, Arthur! Just thank everyone so we can let the poor people eat!”

 

Everyone laughed and Arthur shrugged. “Well, you heard the lady – tuck in!”

 

For about an hour, everyone mingled and ate whilst soft music played from a phonograph in one corner. Teddy had piled his plate high with sweets before Harry had swapped it for one with something more nutritious, telling the young boy he could have the sweets when he’d had something healthy first. He sat with Teddy on his knee, nibbling at the wonderful fare provided whilst Teddy ate quickly but fastidiously, obviously keen to get to his dessert.

 

When everyone was appropriately fed and watered, Ron announced it was present giving time so everyone should ‘shut their traps and be quiet’. This had earned him a telling off from Hermione but everyone complied with the order he’d given.

 

Harry wasn’t keen to give his gift in front of everyone else. It was something rather personal and he also didn’t want to steel the Weasleys’ thunder by suddenly showing everyone that Harry Potter was in the room.

 

Harry wasn’t sure how many gifts had been unwrapped by the time Bill and Percy re-entered the tent, carrying a long, clearly heavy object. It was expertly wrapped and Harry had to admire someone who could cover such a large object so neatly. It was about at tall as he was.

 

The brothers set the present on the floor in front of Mr and Mrs Weasley before Bill hugged them both, followed by Percy.

 

“We got it commissioned,” George piped up.

 

Molly exchanged a quick glance with Arthur before flicking her wand and the wrapping paper fell away, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

 

“Oh, boys!” Mrs Weasley cried out and covered her mouth with her hands.

 

“And me!” Ginny called out, grinning. A smattering of laughter erupted from the crowd.

 

But both of Ginny’s parents were admiring the Grandmother clock standing in front of them. From a distance, it was a smaller, slimmer version of the Grandfather clock already situated in the living room of the Burrow, which displayed the locations of the Weasley family.

 

This clock still had spoons with faces on it and the same destinations and descriptions adorning the face. However, the faces on these spoons were all of people who Mr and Mrs Weasley considered to be family but were not blood relations.

 

Harry stood, still holding Teddy, who wrapped his legs around Harry’s chest to stay in place, and slowly stepped towards the clock.

 

His own face looked back at him from one of the spoons. The end of his spoon was pointed to ‘Garden’, along with Hermione and Fleur’s.

 

Harry was speechless. He throat felt suddenly thick and he clutched Teddy tighter to him as he stared at the clock.

 

“We’ve got extra spoons, too,” Percy said, “Just in case you want to add any more.”

 

Mrs Weasley let out a giddy half-laugh, half-sob and wrenched Percy into her arms. He looked dreadfully uncomfortable at first and patted her on the back before returning the embrace just as fiercely only a few seconds later.

 

Molly did the same to each of her children in turn before turning to the people who were placed on her new clock.

 

Harry let Teddy down to return her hug. He closed his eyes, truly happy and content for the first time a while. He strengthened his grip when Mrs Weasley whispered to him.

 

“I hope, now, you can see you’re definitely family.”


	13. Unexpected Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Severus glared at her, willing her insides to explode from thought alone. He did not need this aggravation right now.' 
> 
> Severus endures some uninvited visitors and is forced into some revelations in the days surrounding Harry's birthday and Draco's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> I apologise for the relative delay in posting. I was working over the weekend, which meant I had less time to dedicate to writing. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit longer than normal. It's been a bit of a challenge and I'm not sure about it. Please let me know what you think and any constructive criticism is more than welcome! 
> 
> Thank you again for reading!  
> C.O.

 “What’s managed to get up _your_ robes, Severus?”

 

Severus glared up at Minerva from his place at the workbench. She was standing opposite him, glaring imperiously through her rectangular spectacles. Severus desperately wanted to stomp on them.

 

“Interfering old witches who interrupt important brewing processes,” he replied dryly, before returning his attention to the cauldron in front of him. He glanced briefly at the recipe beside the cauldron and added a couple of dragonfly wings before stirring once counter-clockwise.

 

A prim cough distracted him and he let out an exasperated huff. “What now, Minerva?” he asked, his voice laced with unmasked irritation, “I believe you have your order for the Hospital Wing, why do you continue to crowd my work space with your presence?”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow at her and set the cauldron to simmer simultaneously. He’d be damned if he let her ruin his potion.

 

Minerva was quiet for a minute but gave him an appraising look that set Severus on edge. He resisted the urge to fidget and squirm. Despite having been colleagues and kind-of-friends for almost twenty years, Minerva still had the ability to make Severus uncomfortable. This was a skill she shared only with the late Albus Dumbledore and, now, the one person he wasn’t trying to think about. He was used to being under scrutiny but with those three people it was different.

 

“You are depressed,” Minerva said plainly.

 

Severus couldn’t help but be startled. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Something has caused you to be even more of a cantankerous bastard for the last few weeks. But precisely what has done so is the real question,” the older witch stated. She settled herself into the stool on the opposite side of the bench to him and continued to examine him analytically. Severus cursed to himself: she really was too bloody logical and precise for a Gryffindor.

 

He remained silent but refused to avert his gaze, though he did put a bit more effort into his mental barriers. No point in making himself open to Legillimency, he thought.

 

“You have clearly not slept properly, for you have a recipe sheet next to you for a potion a mediocre Fifth year could brew, and though it is often difficult to tell, you are even more disagreeable than normal,” Minerva said, clearly on a mission to find out what was wrong with him, “So, I shall repeat more plainly: what has happened?”

 

Severus glowered at her from underneath his dark eyebrows. He was a spy, god dammit! He was supposed to be able to hide his emotions. The person-who-he-refused-to-think-about had clearly had more of an impact than Severus had expected or wanted.

 

“It is nothing, Minerva,” he maintained obstinately. “I am merely having a bad day.”

 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “More like a bad month,” she muttered under her breath.

 

Severus glared at her, willing her insides to explode from thought alone. He did not need this aggravation right now.

 

Along with the recent events in his personal life, his commissions for potions seem to have dwindled recently. Even his regular London customer wasn’t ordering as much these days. Severus could easily handle disasters in one area of his life but adding money worries to his troubles was pushing him dangerously close to the edge of nerves.

 

“I hear the Malfoy wedding is in a few days,” Minerva commented nonchalantly, seeming to change the subject extremely casually. Severus narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what she was getting at. “Perhaps, there is some… resentment towards this event?”

 

Minerva looked at him, feigning innocence so obviously that Severus would have laughed had he not been so confused. Wait, did she think…

 

“You can’t possibly believe I am jealous of Draco Malfoy? I barely remember the Greengrass girl and she was in my own House!” he exclaimed.

 

“Not of Draco,” Minerva replied softly.

 

He frowned and then his mouth dropped open. “I have _never_ been interested in Draco Malfoy as anything more than a student and child of a friend! He is loyal to me and I to him. That is all!” Severus cried, “Draco Malfoy?! Draco bloody Malfoy?”

 

Minerva held up her hands, defensively. “It was merely a suggestion, Severus,” she said, “It was a possibility.”

 

Severus snorted. “About as possible as Flitwick and Hagrid having a torrid affair!” Minerva flushed and Severus pressed his advantage. “I am absolutely fine, Minerva, and it would do you well to keep out of other people’s business.”

 

Minerva apologised hastily and gathered the potions Severus had prepared for her. She muttered a ‘goodbye’ and quickly exited his potions lab. When Severus heard the Floo die down he let out a shaky breath.

 

That had been challenging.

 

*******

 

Apparently, much to his displeasure, he wasn’t done with visitors for the day. Draco sauntered into his kitchen a little after five in the afternoon with a smirk plastered to his thin, pale face. Severus suppressed the urge to smack it off his smug face.

 

“Good afternoon, Severus,” Draco intoned with the manner of a young man only three days from his wedding. “Isn’t it a glorious day?”

 

“What,” Severus growled, “do you want?”

 

“Oooh, touchy, Severus,” Draco mock pouted, “someone would think you weren’t getting any. Oh, wait…”

 

Severus straightened up to his full height and glared down his long nose at Draco. This was less impressive than it had been a few years ago as Draco was almost the same height as him now. It was utterly irksome. Draco, however, still seemed to recoil ever so slightly.

 

“Draco,” he said in a low voice, “if you utter one more word on that matter, I shall personally ensure that your wedding night is the most unsatisfying night of your life.”

 

Draco, regaining his composure, waved him off and strutted over to the display of rare potions ingredients he kept on the shelves at the far end of his lab.

 

“It was the correct thing to do, Severus,” Draco drawled, oblivious to an ever more furious Potions Master behind him. “Nothing good comes from your dalliances. You should settle for a nice witch who’ll tolerate your bits on the side. Proper thing to do, really.”

 

Severus clenched his teeth. “You are so enamoured with your father’s beliefs still, Draco?” he snarled, “I had thought better of you.”

 

A bit of his heart flared with rage at hearing Harry, even unknowingly, referred to as ‘a bit on the side’ but he tampered it down. It would hurt too much to think of the possibilities he’d lost. He did not like to think about how through trying to avoid being hurt, that very thing had happened.

 

“Is that what _you_ are doing, Draco?” he needled the younger man cruelly. “Are you simply marrying the Greengrass girl to cover up for your affairs? Do you truly harbour a desire for the touch of rent boys?”

 

Draco spun and glared at him. “Of course not,” he hissed, “I am not some, some…”

 

“Deviant?” Severus supplied, “Go on, I had heard the same and much worse a hundred times over when I was your age. I would, however, ask you if you would be willing to hide who you truly are for the sake of so-called ‘decency’ if it were the other way around?”

 

Severus snorted and sneered at the astonished face of the younger man. Draco had gotten far too used to being unchallenged in the last few years. “Would you give up Astoria if it were felt by society your love for her was improper? Do _no_ t ask me to do something of which you do not understand the implications, Mr Malfoy.”

 

Draco was silent and so Severus turned and swept out of his lab, unable to face the other man without feeling nauseated.

 

He had reached his living room, where his most expensive liquor was housed, before Draco caught up with him.

 

“I apologise,” said Draco from behind him, “I did not think.”

 

Severus opened his liquor cabinet and selected a bottle of scotch. He let out a small, derisive laugh. “That much,” he replied, “is evident.”

 

He didn’t offer Draco a drink. He was too angry.

 

“My parents are not overly fond of some of Astoria’s views,” Draco extended, clearly hoping fix what hurt he had caused with his careless words. “She does not believe in a lot of the Pureblood ideals my parents cling to. She is also unwell,” Draco said softly, “A curse; an old one. But I will marry her even without their approval. I love her. She makes me a better man.”

 

Severus was silent and poured himself a drink.

 

“Why did you leave him if this is how you react when we talk about it?” Draco asked quietly. “I may have said some things to rile you up but you do not usually take my comments so seriously. I know you won’t tell me who it was, but you clearly cared for him, Severus.”

 

Severus swirled the glass of alcohol, admiring the way the amber liquid sloshed over the crystal cut pattern. He downed the drink, grimacing slightly at the burn at the back of his throat, and surveyed the empty glass.

 

He poured himself another healthy measure.

 

“Because,” he said flatly, “I do not deserve it, Draco. I do not deserve him.”

 

 *******

 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HA-AARGH!”

 

Harry’s wand was still pointed at his best friend when he sleepily finally realised what he’d done and to whom.

 

Ron and Hermione had evidently decided to sneak into his bedroom and give him a birthday surprise. Harry wasn’t over fond of surprises nowadays.

 

Ron was hopping around the room, trying to pat out the purple flames on his robe as Hermione tried to aim her water spell as accurately as she could. This was clearly difficult as Ron refused to stay still.

 

“RON!” Harry yelled, and cast a dousing charm on the hopping redhead, “ _Aguamenti Maxima!”_ What could only be described as a waterfall dropped on top of Ron, and Hermione squealed as she jumped back, trying to avoid the spray.

 

A sopping and shivering Ron turned towards Harry once the fire had been properly extinguished.

 

“H-hap-ppy b-birthd-day,” he said weakly.

 

Hermione burst into laughter as Harry jumped up from his bed and performed a drying spell on Ron, whose hair immediately stood on end making him look like a lion. “Merlin, Ron, I’m sorry. But don’t startle me like that!” he rebuked his friends, “What did you think would happen? I’ve been living with cursed objects for nearly a month and we’ve lived most of our lives at war!”

 

Hermione continued to laugh at his ire and Ron shrugged sheepishly.

 

“Sorry, mate, just wanted to surprise you for your birthday,” he said, giving Harry a small smile. “Thought we’d make a day of it.”

 

Hermione nodded beside him. “The three of us,” she added, “We know you don’t like the fuss of the main celebrations. We’re still going to spoil you, though.”

 

Harry finally let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, “Just… try not to startle me again, alright? Don’t want a trip to St. Mungo’s on anyone’s birthday!”

 

An hour or so later found Harry, Ron, and Hermione enjoying an ice cream each outside of Florian Fortescue’s ice cream parlour. Hermione had ordered Harry’s for him, despite his protests, and it was piled high with cream, cherries, biscuits, and sprinkles. The new owner, (Mr Fortescue’s son, Fabian) who had re-opened the shop after the war, had stuck in an Ever-Bright Sparkler – one of George’s creations - in celebration of his birthday. It sat beside the tall glass, still giving off green, purple, and gold sparks every so often. He dug his spoon into the chocolaty mess, unsure of how he would manage to finish it, but willing to give it a try. It was his birthday, after all.

 

Ron and Hermione were bickering good-naturedly about the number of chocolate chips each of them had and Harry smirked behind his ice cream glass. It felt nice to be able to relax with his friends like this. It had been too long since they’d spent time together, just the three of them. He was reminded of their early school days, before Voldemort had returned and they’d had to grow up prematurely.

 

About halfway through his sundae, Harry picked up on a conversation between two wizards sitting at a table next to them.

 

“Malfoy wedding’s today, apparently,” said one with a long, black, scraggly beard.

 

“Hmm,” concurred the other, who was apparently more concerned with his ice cream than any marriage.

 

“’appening at the Registry Office ‘ere, apparently,” the bedraggled wizard continued, totally oblivious to his companion’s disinterest.

 

“Mmm,” came the reply.

 

“Suspect it’s to compete with the Potter celebrations.”

 

“Aaah, mmm.”

 

Harry’s brow furrowed: trust Draco Malfoy to have his wedding today of all days. Harry wasn’t overjoyed about the multiple and extravagant celebrations performed in his name every year on the 31st July. He rather tended to avoid them if he could. But, even though there was no real malice or bitterness in their rivalry now, Draco still seemed to insist on trying to one-up Harry in any way possible. Not that it was difficult these days to out-perform Harry at life skills.

 

However, Harry very much doubted that there was some other significant reason for Draco choosing to get married today except for the petty game of keeping ahead of the Potters.

 

“Look, there’s the party now!” the grisly wizard shouted.

 

Harry looked in the direction the old wizard was pointing and his spoon dropped to the table with a clatter.

 

Ron and Hermione looked at him initially, unprepared for the disturbance, before following his gaze to the main street. Ron’s jaw clenched and Hermione reached over to hold Harry’s hand.

 

Draco Malfoy was parading down the middle of Diagon Alley, Lucius Malfoy on his right side and Severus Snape on his left. Draco was dressed in impeccably cut robes of light green and with a silver inlay. His father strutted beside his son with a haughty expression that was seemingly moulded permanently onto his face.

 

Severus did not look at all pleased to be included in the wedding guard. He wore his formal teaching robes and an expression of displeasure.

 

Harry dropped his eyes to the table and pulled his hand from Hermione’s.

 

“I, um…” he stammered, “I… I need to…” He looked up at the party again, apparently unable to not watch them.

 

The group passed them, talking, father and son jovially amongst themselves. Snape’s eyes, however, were fixed straight ahead of him, and Harry wasn’t sure if the other man had seen him and his friends at all.

 

Harry continued to watch the dark, sweeping robes down the street and round the corner.

 

When the group had finally disappeared from view, he let out a shuddering breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding.

 

He looked back to Ron and Hermione, who were watching him anxiously.

 

“It’s fine, guys,” Harry managed, “It’s okay.”

 

“You don’t have to be okay, Harry,” Hermione said kindly, “It’s fine not to be okay.”

 

“I am,” he replied hurriedly, “I’m fine. But, could we maybe delay the birthday celebrations? Not sure I’m in the mood anymore.”

 

Ron’s eyebrows drew together in a frown, “But, mate, you’ve not opened any presents yet! We thought-“

 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, standing and gathering his summer jacket. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for the ice cream.”

 

He stalked away from the table, ignoring the calls from Ron and Hermione and avoiding the stares of passers-by. He Disapparated halfway through a stride — desperate to be alone.

 

*******

 

The wedding had been near intolerable. It was just as simpering and sentimental as Severus had feared it would be.

 

The only saving grace was the high quality alcohol served at the reception. The Malfoys had, of course, maintained their wealth after the war and both Draco and Lucius continued to make solid investments with their ‘spare change’. The result was a lavish affair for Draco and Astoria’s wedding day and what promised to be a _very_ enjoyable honeymoon for them both.

 

The band had started playing some modern, up-tempo number that sat entirely contrary to Severus’ general mood. He could hardly forget the other important event marked by this day and even if he could, the general WIzarding public would not have let him.

 

Harry’s face (a picture from just after the final battle) had been plastered all over the newspapers lining the street. It was the same every year on this day. The entire Wizarding world celebrated the birth of the vaunted Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Saviour of the Wizarding World.

 

Previously, Severus had been able to ignore it, but this year every poster, front page, Wireless announcement, and damn conversation sent a sharp, horrid reminder of his loss straight into his battered heart. And it was entirely his fault.

 

He downed his drink violently and snatched another glass from a tray carried by a passing House Elf. He needed to get completely and utterly rat arsed to deal with this whole fiasco.

 

“Resorting to alcohol this early in the proceedings, Severus?” the silky voice of Lucius Malfoy said in his ear, “What could _possibly_ have driven you to such measures?”

 

Severus glowered at the other man who was smirking at him with malevolent glee in his eyes. Draco had told him. Bloody wretched ferret…

 

Lucius clicked his fingers and a House Elf popped into being beside them. The blond man gracefully chose a glass from the silver tray presented to him and then said, coldly, to the Elf, “Leave.”

 

The creature cowered and bowed low, somehow maintaining the balance of the tray, before cracking out of sight and reappearing on the other side of the room. Severus watched as another Elf gently consoled it as it shook with nerves. Severus half expected the poor thing to start banging itself on the head with its tray.

 

“I believe I will join you, Severus,” Lucius continued, wholly uncaring of Severus’ evident discomfort and desire to be left alone with his alcohol and his brooding. The darker man sighed, prepared to tolerate the company for only so long before he decided he didn’t care that it would be rude for him to leave.

 

Besides, there was a lot more free alcohol here than at his house.

 

“If you must, Lucius,” said Severus flatly, unwilling to give the other man easy access to his information. He’d make drawing blood from a stone look like the easier option.

 

He had once been very good friends with Lucius Malfoy. Or, as so often with Severus, he had thought they were friends. To Lucius, Severus had always been a talented tool with which to ingratiate himself to the Dark Lord and a naïve mind to manipulate for his own purposes. But Severus was much wiser than Lucius and more cynical about all things now.

 

And Lucius would never quite forgive or understand the way Severus had played the two sides of the war so very well in his role as a spy. Severus suspected the man felt betrayed and undermined, having missed such vital information about Severus that had led to the downfall of his grand campaign.

 

It had been Draco, not the parental Malfoys, who had chosen to invite Severus to the wedding though Severus was fairly sure Narcissa had been the deciding factor if Lucius had put up a fuss. Narcissa was still grateful to Severus for saving her son’s life and this tended to blind her to Severus’ defection from the Dark Lord.

 

“I think that I must, Severus,” Lucius remarked, suddenly much more soberly, “You continue to involve yourself in improper associations. My son tells me that you have recently broken one of these… dalliances but I must caution you as to how your actions are viewed in society.”

 

Severus fumed beside the other man and stared off into the far corner, trying to control his temper. Instead, he ended up imagined himself performing the Cruciatus Curse on the other man whilst laughing maniacally.

 

A small smile escaped him.

 

“You are putting your already rather tattered reputation to extremely high risk, Severus,” Lucius continued, oblivious to Severus’ thoughts of torture and maiming, “Look at what has happened to Potter.”

 

Severus’ turned to look at Lucius with extraordinary alacrity. Did Lucius know? Had something happened to Harry? He still didn’t bother with the newspapers and Severus doubted any news of Harry would turn up in _Potions Monthly_ , the only subscription he kept.

 

“What of Potter?”

 

Lucius stared at him as though he were stupid. “Oh, please, Severus, don’t tell me you hadn’t heard about the boy’s abnormal nature,” he said disdainfully, “It’s been common knowledge for years. You and your isolation have left you woefully uninformed. Potter has been the subject of some scorn and derision for years. I heard he’d been unable to obtain any form of regular employment, you know. Apparently, not even being Saviour of the World’ will give you a free pass these days if you’re disturbed.”

 

Severus scowled but part of him was glad that Harry hadn’t appeared to get into any more trouble since they’d parted. He may have ended his time with Harry but Severus was not about to let a son-of-a-bitch like Lucius Malfoy spew his vile prejudice and lies about him when the man wasn’t here to defend himself.

 

“I remind you, Lucius,” he said icily, deciding to put an end to the conversation now and forever, “That I know of a great deal of things that have occurred in your own home that are considered far more deviant that anything that I or Harry Potter may do.   You have previously quoted your ‘ideals’ to me and it occurs to me that there is no one but yourself that you do not consider to be iniquitous.”

 

He took a deep breath and looked straight into Lucius icy, grey eyes. Oh, it would be _so_ easy to search the mind of this man. But Severus had no need; he could see the weakness masked by hubris and cruelty as plain as Merlin’s beard.

 

“You are nothing to me now, Lucius Malfoy,” Severus stated frostily, “I have no time nor will to care about your opinions. We are not brothers in arms and I care nothing for your prehistoric narrow-mindedness and bigotry. You are worth no more breath in my body than it has taken to say this. Good day to you.”

 

Severus glared one last time before turning on his heel. He left the glass he’d been holding on a table as he passed. The taste of alcohol provided by Lucius Malfoy no longer appealed to him in the slightest.

 

Draco tried to grab his arm as he stormed out the hall but Severus was too quick, too angry to be stopped. He strode away from the wedding venue with a furious scowl on his face and people stepped hurriedly out of his way.

 

He’d need much more alcohol than was in the house to get ride of the bitter taste left in his mouth by Lucius Malfoy.

 

********

 

The funny thing about alcohol, Severus thought to himself, was that it tended to lure you into a state of drunkenness that mirrored whatever you were feeling when you started to drink.

 

If you drank to celebrate your joy, Alcohol encouraged your joviality and generosity with your purse.

 

If you drank to soothe your anger, Alcohol told you that punching a wall or someone’s face or hexing them so they couldn’t sit down without extreme pain (on one memorable occasion) would be a great idea.

 

And when you drank so forget your misery, Alcohol fed your sorrow and poured you another drink in the hope the next one would make your memories fade.

 

Severus swirled the brandy around the glass, thinking it would be much better to have a lit fire in the grate so he could appreciate the colours more. But he was too drunk to stand, let alone light a fire accurately enough without burning his house down.

 

The brandy had been found at the back of his cupboard and was probably more suited to cooking than to drinking. It did the job, however, and Severus felt a slightly incongruous sensation of comfortable melancholy. He’d tried to find an alternative source of booze before he came home but all of the WIzarding off-licences he’d tried had been sold of anything remotely drinkable. His wedding robes prevented him from straying into Muggle London so he’d settled for what he could find in the house.

 

Alcohol was probably not the best thing in the world for him right now but it certainly helped him deal with not having anything the best things.

 

Severus was not usually prone to using alcohol as an emotional crutch. He had seen too much of the effects it had on his father and, subsequently, his mother to allow himself to become dependent upon the drug. It dulled his senses and wits, meaning he’d rarely if ever touched the stuff during the war, leaving him with the tolerance of a House Elf initially. He’d thankfully regained the pleasure in the occasional glass over the years.

 

Tonight, the liquor was whispering sweet promises in his ear that he would forget and he had made the right decision whilst the small, needling voice in the back of his head (which was probably his conscience or other rot) told him he was a fool and he’d thrown away his chance at happiness for his own selfish attempt at self-preservation.

 

Severus closed his eyes so he didn’t hear the flaring of his Floo.

 

“Oh, Severus, what have you done?”

 

He squealed rather embarrassingly and leapt about a foot off of his chair. Minerva McGonagall was standing in front of him with a pitying look on her face. Or at least Severus thought it to pity but there were two of her at times…

 

He settled down in the chair again, steadying his head with his hand to stop the world swaying and squinted so there was only one Minerva again. He smirked to himself at his clever thinking.

 

“I’m drunk,” Severus told Minerva frankly.

 

“That much is evident by the smell alone, Severus,” she replied, “Otherwise I’d have to believe you’d opened a distillery.”

 

Minerva’s nose wrinkled. She conjured her self a chair and sat down opposite him, crossing her legs and looking like that bloody pompous owl of Granger’s. Severus tried to scowl but from the look on his former colleague’s face it hadn’t been entirely successful.

 

“You look like you’re having a conniption,” she said sharply, “Stop it and tell me what has driven you to drink the greater part of a bottle of cooking brandy?”

 

This only made Severus glower harder and he clutched the brandy bottle to his chest. “You can’t have any,” he said sullenly.

 

“I shall grieve for the missed opportunity,” Minerva drawled sarcastically. She sniffed before realising her mistake and her features twisted in revulsion again. “Can I at least open a window, Severus? I think I’m getting drunk off the fumes.”

 

Severus waved his hand vaguely towards the window and Minerva flicked her wand and muttered, “ _Apertus_.”

 

A cool breeze hit Severus in the face and he felt paradoxically more inebriated. He closed his eyes again and tried to savour the fresh air.

 

“Better,” Minerva stated before re-centring her attention on Severus, “Now, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong with you. It’s the summer holidays and I have until at least 31st August to sit here. I’m sure I could even have some meetings moved to this very location. Conley Fowl and the director of W.A.D.E. would only be too happy to-“

 

“All right, woman,” Severus snapped, “stop torturing me. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone? I am not a student or a teacher anymore we hardly confided in each other over tea and biscuits even then.”

 

“Because, against all my better judgement,” said Minerva waspishly before her face softened into an expression Severus had believed to be only for James Potter and his cronies, “I care about you. Merlin help me, but I do.”

 

They were quiet for a spell whilst Severus tried to wrap his head around what Minerva had told him. She refused to look uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Eventually, Severus decided to break the silence, though his voice was less steady than he’d hoped.

 

“Then I suggest you stop,” he croaked, “People who attempt to care for me do not tend to have favourable outcomes from their endeavour.”

 

Minerva sighed, “Lily Evans was-“

 

“I am not referring to Lily,” Severus cut her off. He avoided her gaze. He wouldn’t be able to block her if she attempted Legillimency in his current state.

 

Minerva stared at him, confused and disconcerted. “Then who-“

 

“Please, Minerva, I ask you to stop and leave me alone.”

 

“We’ve already established that I am going nowhere until you tell me why you are drinking yourself into an early grave!” snapped Minerva.

 

Severus let out a derisive laugh, “Hardly an early grave when I should have died in that shack four years ago. If help had not come in the form of Harry- from _Potter_ and his sidekicks, I would be well on my way to resembling the Inferi by now.“

 

He sat, stock still and hyper-aware of his slip. He hoped his ex-colleague would not notice but she was a sharp and perceptive and Severus knew he was praying in vain.

 

“I have not once heard you refer to Harry Potter by his first name alone, Severus,” she said pointedly, “Not even after you awoke in the hospital to find him keeping vigil. The fact that he did was a topic of much heated discussion amongst many, I can assure you.” Minerva paused, surveying Severus, who remained motionless, before she continued, “All of this could not be due to Harry Potter, could it? You have not seen the boy in years.”

 

Severus quickly ran through his options in his mind. Amongst them was the possibility of Obvliating Minerva and dumping her back in her office. But with the amount of alcohol Severus had consumed he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t leave his quasi-employer and friend as a gibbering idiot. People would be bound to notice eventually…

 

He rapidly found himself out of any choices but to tell the truth. If he’d been sober he would likely have been able to come up with something but the fact was he’d been the maker of his own downfall. Though he supposed he could blame Malfoy.

 

“Severus,” Minerva said, “I’m waiting.”

 

He immediately felt like he was back in first year and had been hauled up in front of her for hexing James Potter’s trousers to fall down again. He supposed there was nothing for it. He kept his eyes lowered.

 

“You are wrong when you say I have not seen Harry in years,” he started, not quite sure how to explain and retain his dignity and her respect. “I… We… We were lovers. For a time.”

 

Silence.

 

Severus looked up. Minerva was sitting bolt upright and immobile in her chair. She could have been a statue, Severus thought. She wasn’t even _blinking_. Her lips were slightly pursed and her hands were tight fists on her lap.

 

Suddenly, she began blinking extremely quickly and she cleared her throat, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Severus,” she replied, still blinking furiously, “I will have to beg your pardon because I just thought I heard you say that you and… and… Harry _Potter_ were-“

 

“Lovers.”

 

She was still and silent again before she started gaping like a fish. “Oh,” she said quietly, “Well, that was unexpected.”

 

Severus said nothing as Minerva continued to try to wrap her brain around what she had just heard. He felt shame creep over him and desperately wished he could have some more brandy but he feared any sudden move might cause his companion to combust.

 

“You’re sure?” she said eventually.

 

Severus had to laugh a little at that. “Very.”

 

“Oh,” came the reply. Minerva was all together too calm about this. He’d expected explosions and recriminations. He could have handled anger and censure but he wasn’t sure how to respond to this disbelieving detached shock. Then Minerva seemed to come back into herself and she stared at him piercingly. “You said ‘were’. You ‘were’… lovers,” she seemed to struggle with the word still. “What happened?”

 

Severus sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “It could not have lasted, Minerva. We are too different. I ended it about a month ago.”

 

“What?” she asked breathily, “Did… did he do something? He’s very young Severus but-“

 

“He did nothing,” he interrupted sharply, “And I am aware of his age, thank you. He did nothing but care for me. I could not allow it to grow. He would have been hurt eventually.”

 

“So you hurt him sooner to ‘minimise the pain’?” Minerva sounded suddenly angry, a simmering fury evident in her voice, “For I do not believe Potter would be unscathed by your departure. Are you sure you were being so selfless in your actions? It was not you who was afraid to be hurt?”

 

The guilt and shame uncurled like a flower within him. She knew him too well. His silence was incriminating.

 

“Well, you’re plan was brilliant then, wasn’t it?” she continued caustically, “Because here you are the picture of happiness and health.”

 

“I _know_ , Minerva,” Severus said, “I know. But it is too late. I cannot fix it.”

 

In the stillness that followed, he poured himself more brandy and downed it, savouring the burn as it distracted him from his remorse and self-directed anger.

 

A hand came to rest on his own, and he looked up into Minerva’s face, which was filled with a strange compassion and sympathy.

 

“I’m not sure it is ever too late, Severus,” she said quietly, “Not unless you allow it to be.”


	14. A Harry Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The room was in darkness. Why bother lighting any candles or lamps? It was just Harry.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter comes with heavy TRIGGER WARNINGS. Links to resources are at the bottom.
> 
> I have posted two chapters at time this time so please make sure you read chapter 14 before 15.
> 
> These were incredibly hard to write chapters. I hope they satisfy.  
> C.O.
> 
> P.S. Comments are lovely whatever you want to say. Many thanks for reading.

After Minerva had left him to his drunkenness and self-recriminations, Severus had almost built up enough courage to take her advice. Perhaps, he’d thought, it _wasn’t_ too late to try to fix his relationship with Harry. The alcohol had bolstered his bravado and he’d even started making plans for how he’d approach the younger man, explanations and apologies and promises composing themselves like a symphony in his head.

 

He’d fallen asleep in his armchair with images of passionate reunions and harmonious exchanges of desire dancing round his head.

 

But now that he was awake, sober, and hung over, the pictures had turned to ones bitter, righteous rejections and angry outbursts of blame. How could he believe that Harry would ever have him back? Severus had deserted the young man with callousness reminiscent of their days at Hogwarts and the early war years. Harry would likely laugh in his face and rightly so, thought Severus.

 

It’s likely what _he_ would do if he’d been rejected in such a way.

 

He stood on embarrassingly shaky legs, feeling like a newborn foal as he made his way to the bathroom for a shower. The aim was to wash away the feelings of dankness brought on by sleeping in his formal robes and drinking his body volume in alcohol, as well as the private embarrassment he felt at entertaining such naïve and wishful thinking even if his brain had been half-pickled at the time.

 

Severus’ other reservations about a relationship with Harry also began to resurface in his mind. Minerva had mentioned how young Harry was and Severus was not blind to the years between them. It hadn’t seemed such an issue during the three months they’d been lovers but they hadn’t told anyone about them during their time together.

 

If they had been open with their other companions, it would only have been a matter of time before the press found out. Harry lived his life in a fishbowl. Severus was intensely private. He didn’t want to give up that seclusion if he was entirely honest.

 

It was these worries as well as his actions and failings that made what he’d told Draco true: he did not deserve Harry Potter.

 

 

Severus didn’t bother to hang up his robes with his usual care, allowing them to drop onto the tiled floor in a cavalier heap. He allowed the hot spray of the shower to cascade over him for sometime before he started to wash. It soothed his cramping muscles and pounding head. It failed to reach his internal aching and he had to brace himself with both hands on the wall, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his teeth. He hadn’t cried real tears in years. Severus believed he might have forgotten how to cry. The memories he’d given to Harry had not counted as tears, he believed. They were his last hope of conveying to the young man what his motivations had been and perhaps some last grasp at redemption.

 

The phial of memories lay in a chest he kept for odds and ends he’d collected over the years and had not been able to bring himself to part with. Beside them, was the paperback novel he’d taken from Harry’s house, untouched since that fateful day he’d last left the small flat.

 

The water started to run cold and, still, Severus stood, allowing the icy droplets to beat his skin as punishment for his mistakes. He refused to acknowledge that some of the wetness on his cheeks was warm and salty as the cool, fresh water of the shower washed it away.

 

*******

 

Harry jogged from the safe Apparition point to Andromeda’s house. He’d left a little later than planned but would still make it on time of he hurried a little. His sleep had, yet again, been disturbed with dreams of running and darkness and green flashes and he’d spent most of the night in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place trying to rewrite some of the notes he’d compiled about Terry Freeman’s murder.

 

He had to wonder at what was taking so long in fixing his flat.

 

Surely, he thought, even in his most angst-ridden moments he’d never be powerful enough to confound the Gringotts’ Cursebreakers. He wondered if he should own up to owning the flat in the middle of Muggle London just so he could get a peak at the place and maybe feel out some of the possible spells he’d blasted out in his anguish. Ron and Hermione had discouraged him from doing this, telling him that he’d likely be hauled up in front of the Wizengamot for irresponsible use of magic in a Muggle nebourgood.

 

The whole event had, thankfully, been kept out of the papers so far but Harry wasn’t convinced it would last much longer with so much of the Ministry task force being involved in the clean up.

 

The anniversary party at the Weasleys the previous week had filled him with a little, fragile hope that things might actually be okay instead of it just being himself repeating that it was. He’d left the party a little earlier than most people, claiming tiredness when he’d really just been a little overwhelmed by the whole day. The Weasleys were so kind and loving and Harry couldn’t help but feel he didn’t really deserve it. Surely he’d brought more trouble to the benevolent family than joy over the years? And yet, they’d all accepted him enough to have him counted into a family clock.

 

The strange mixture of hope and guilt had incited him to try restoring what he could of his life before Severus had come along, such as it was. He’d organised to meet with Luna and Rolf more regularly and had contemplated owling Garret to to see about catching up and maybe catching a match when the Qudditch season started up again. It was a start, he’d thought.

 

He checked his watch and quickened his pace so he was sprinting down the road. Harry reached the house just on time and knocked rapidly on the door. The door opened to reveal a sombre-looking Andromeda and Harry’s stomach dropped like a stone.

 

He tried to be bright in his greeting, wondering what was wrong. “Hi, ‘Dromeda, how are you? Is Teddy ready? I’ve got some great stuff planned for the weekend. I got him something I think he’ll really like as well,” he said, smiling and looking around her for a sign of his godson.

 

Andromeda didn’t smile back and Harry felt the familiar constricting fist around his heart.

 

“Harry,” she said resignedly.

 

“Andromeda,” Harry interjected, panic flooding his veins, “What’s going on?”

 

Andromeda sighed and crossed her arms over her waist protectively. “Harry, I don’t think you should take Teddy this weekend. Or a for a while,” she said sadly, “I’m worried about you.”

 

Harry swallowed thickly and clenched his fists at his side. “What do you mean?” he asked hastily. He realised he was shaking slightly and the rhododendrons in the bush next to the steps began to wilt. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

 

“You’re not well, Harry,” Andromeda replied, watching him cautiously, “I think you should take a break from looking after Teddy. You need to look after yourself. You’re wasting away, Harry.”

 

Harry clenched his jaw in fury and desperation. “Please, Andromeda,” he said, “I’m okay. I know the last month or so hasn’t been great but-“

 

“It’s not just the last month, Harry,” she interrupted, “You’ve been struggling for a while.”

 

Harry was lost for words. He thought he’d been managing, putting up a good front. Certainly, he’d never believed himself to be incapable of looking after his godson.

 

“You can’t take Teddy from me,” he said pleadingly, “He’s… He’s my godson. I love him. Please, Andromeda, I know I’ve been distracted but-“

 

“I’m not taking his from you. You’re wasting away, Harry,” Andromeda said urgently, “Please, come in and we can talk about it? I’m really not keeping you from seeing him; I just want you to look after yourself. I’m _so_ worried for you.”

 

Harry struggled for words, “But… but I’m getting better. I’m okay. I’m fine. I can look after Teddy.”

 

“You’re not fine, Harry,” she replied, “And it’s the fact you can’t see it that worries me most. I want to help you. Please, come inside and you can see Teddy but-“

 

“No,” Harry shook his head and withdrew into himself, “No it’s okay. I don’t… It’s too hard. To see him and not-“ Harry swallowed hard and then reached into his pocket and handed a package to Andromeda whilst avoiding her gaze. “Just, give him this for me, please? I thought he’d like it.”

 

Andromeda took the present and held it in both hands. “Harry, I’m honestly not trying to stop you from seeing Teddy,” she said hurriedly, “Looking after a four year old is stressful and I don’t want-“

 

“I get it,” Harry said, still looking at the floor rather Andromeda, “I get it. Just… I hope Teddy likes the present. I’ll see you later.”

 

He turned and walked quickly down the path, hands in his pockets and head down.

 

“Harry!” Andromeda called after him.

 

Harry ignored her and sped up slightly before deciding that he’d had enough and Disapparated right where he was. Bugger the Ministry regulations anyway.

 

*******

 

The room was in darkness. Why bother lighting any candles or lamps? It was just Harry.

 

Just Harry.

 

He pulled his legs up onto the worn sofa in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place and wrapped his arms around his knees. He’d managed to procure a phonograph from Arthur Weasley and he found, fortuitously, that it could play Muggle LPs just as well as well as it played Wizard records.

 

Blues songs sang out from the corner of the room and Harry felt no shame what-so-ever in his wallowing.  He cared little that his life had become a cliché. He cared for very little at all at the moment.

 

What did he have left, really?

 

He had no job, no relationship, and no purpose. What good was he really? He’d served his purpose in killing Voldemort. He was useless now.

 

Ron and Hermione would be better off not worrying about him. They had enough on their plates at the moment with Rose’s uncontrolled magic and Ron’s problems at work. Hermione had just started back at the Ministry, too, and was likely buried under a pile of Creature Rights paper work.

 

Mr and Mrs Weasley were kind and loving but they, too, had other people and things to worry about. Mr Weasley’s job seemed constantly on the line and he’d likely have to work for sometime beyond his retirement age to ensure they were both comfortable enough. They’d had to scrimp and save for so many years and had provided Harry with so much. They’d lost one son and nearly so many others of their children because of Harry. They’d really be better off not knowing him at all.

 

Teddy had Andromeda and the Weasleys loved him. He didn’t need a has-been ‘hero’ of a godfather hanging around when he could but never really being a part of his life. What was the point in being a godfather when you couldn’t look after your godson?

 

How could he look after Teddy when he spent a large part of his waking hours wondering what what real anymore? He’d been seeing dead people for Merlin’s sake. And hearing them. He wondered so often these days which of his thoughts were fact and which were fiction. Could a distinction even be made?

 

Harry had to question if there was much point in even existing anymore.

 

*******

 

Severus glared at the letter in his hand. It was another commission for the Suggerus Potion his London buyer. He had to wonder, somewhat, at the frequency of such requests. The potion was not a common nor entirely legal brew but seemed to be a familiar request from this particular customer. It would be much cheaper to learn how to brew it for oneself but Castillo had been ordering this particular potion from him for the last few months. He’d not asked for it in a while though, Severus supposed.

 

Severus set the letter down on his desk. It was his only commission this week. He had no choice but to brew it if he wanted to afford his rent this month.

 

He walked away from his desk, unwilling to start on any orders just now. Something just seemed off. Severus didn’t like to make potions in the wrong mood. Potion brewing was just as much an art as a science and he suspected that trying to brew anything in his current mood would end in complete disaster.

 

Instead, he headed towards to the small study he’d built and sat at his desk. He pulled a blank sheet of parchment towards him. He picked up his will and dipped it in ink.

 

The tip of the quill hovered precariously over the page before, finally, resting on it.

 

_Harry,_

_Please forgive the long silence._

_I wish for so many things, the foremost of which is that I had not left you as I did all those weeks ago._

_I have written this letter so many times and never yet sent it. There are so many things for which I am sorry. I would hope you could forgive me. I miss your company._

_Severus_

He reread his letter and scoffed before crumpling it in his hand and incinerating it with a flick of his wand. What good was a letter for what he felt?

 

How could he convey his regret and sorrow and hurt through simple ink and parchment.

 

Maybe he should just go away for a while? Try to forget however impossible it might seem.

 

Severus placed his head in his hands, closing his eyes, and grieving for everything he’d lost.

*******

 

“Harry? Harry, you in mate?”

 

Ron’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. Harry unfurled himself from the sofa as he heard Ron’s footfall on the stairs.

 

“In the drawing room,” he called, his voice surprisingly hoarse making Harry realised he’d not spoken to another being in days.

 

Ron appeared at the door dressed in semi-formal robes and looking worried. “Hey, mate,” he said, stepping into the room, “All right?”

 

Ron asked this tentatively, as though afraid of the answer. Harry hugged a cushion to his chest and watched as his best friend perched himself on the edge of one of the armchairs. Ron smoothed out his robes and smiled at him, nervously.

 

Harry didn’t attempt to smile back.

 

“Ginny’s birthday party’s starting in a couple of hours,” said Ron, “Mum’s asking after you to come.”

 

Harry remained silent and curled back into his seat.

 

Ron shifted in his chair. “We’re all kind of hoping you’ll come,” he said, entreatingly, “Not seen you in a while and I know Ginny and Michael can be a bit much sometimes but, well, Ginny’s 21 and all…”

 

Harry nodded but didn’t say anything. Ron’s brow furrowed and he cleared his throat.

 

“Harry,” he said, clearly uncomfortable, “please, mate, just let me help you get ready.”

 

Harry watched Ron, feeling strangely impassive, and shook his head, “I’m all right,” he said, “Just not really up to coming out today.”

 

Ron frowned and shifted forward on his seat, “Harry, we-“

 

“I’m _fine_ , Ron,” Harry insisted, “Really. I’m just a bit tired. Not slept well, recently. Don’t want to bring everyone down. Give my best to Ginny.”

 

He tried a smile and hoped Ron would accept his excuse.

 

Ron still looked worried but nodded. He turned to the go but paused and faced Harry again.

 

“Sure you won’t come over, Harry?” Ron asked again, “Mum’s made her chocolate cake for Ginny’s birthday. Melty inside and everything.” Ron waggled his eyebrows, trying to tempt Harry into relenting.

 

Harry allowed himself small laugh at his best friend. He wondered if he would miss this or if he wouldn’t be able to miss anything at all. He shook his head, “I’m sure, Ron. Thank you.”

 

Ron nodded, though hesitated at the doorway. “You’ll be alright mate? Yeah?”

 

Harry became sombre and nodded. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, “of course. See you, Ron.”

 

His friend nodded again and turned, finally leaving. Before he got all the way, Harry called after him.

 

“Ron?” he beckoned, slightly hesitant.

 

Ron turned back, looking devastatingly hopeful. “Yeah, mate?”

 

“You’re… You’re a good friend, Ron.”

 

Ron frowned and looked confused. He appeared to want to say something but couldn’t find the words. “You too, Harry,” he said eventually, “I’ll call in later. Bring you some leftovers.”

 

When the sound of the Floo died down, Harry unfolded his legs and moved to the edge of the sofa.

 

He sat for a while longer, playing with the hem of his t-shirt and remembering his life thus far. He’d lost his parents at one year old, been abused and neglected for ten years, been hunted by and fought an evil wizard almost every year from eleven to eighteen, and spent the last four years of his life trying to fix his mistakes, combat his post-war depression and PTSD, and messed up most of his relationships in one way or another. He’d gone from Golden Boy to tarnished war veteran almost overnight with his indiscretion. He was useless, worthless, and a burden.  

 

It was time, he thought. It was now or never to get it over with. He’d tried before and failed but now was his chance. His friends were distracted with Ginny’s birthday and he’d tidied his things as much as he could. Teddy would get Grimmauld Place and some savings in trust, whilst the rest would go to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Ron and Hermione would get his wand and his invisibility cloak and their lives back.

 

His letters to Ron, Hermione, Luna, Mr and Mrs Weasly, and, foolishly, Severus had been written in the last few days and were lying on his un-slept-in bed upstairs. He was ready.

 

Harry blocked the Floo and then slowly made his way to the bathroom on the first floor, no thoughts in his head but the coming peace and the knowledge he was ensuring his friends had no need to worry for him more.

 

He ran the taps in the bath and placed the plug in place. It might not have worked the last time but he didn’t have neighbours to come and find him now. Besides, he’d not just leave it to his wrists this time around. The idea of the warm water seemed peaceful and soothing to him as his life drifted away.

 

Once the bath was filled with warm water he stopped the taps and disrobed, leaving his pyjamas on the floor but maintaining his wand.

 

Harry stepped over the edge of the bath into the warm, soothing water and lay himself down.

 

He sat - eyes closed - for a few minutes, cherishing the feel of the warm, clear water on his skin. It would be his last chance.

 

He shivered involuntary and opened his eyes. A thrill of fear ran the length of his spine and Harry wondered if all his visions of the afterlife had been false promises of hope. He wondered if his parents, Sirius and Remus weren’t actually waiting for him and all that awaited him was… nothing.

 

But, no, he thought, the resurrection stone couldn’t have lied all those years ago and he’d be safe and peaceful with his family soon. He’d not have his despair and guilt and grief anymore. Hermione and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys had enough to be getting on with in their lives. They’d be okay.

 

He nodded to himself; conviction restored. He raised his wand to his left wrist.

 

The bath vibrated beneath him.

 

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” he whispered.

 

A deep slash formed over his radial and ulnar arteries and Harry hissed in pain. Blood flowed freely over his left hand and wrist and into the clear water, which turned slowly pink. Harry watched for a few seconds, slightly woozy as the blood pumped into the water and he saw his life draining from him.   He raised his wand to his neck, desperate to finish his task quickly now that he had started.

 

He murmured the fraught prayer of a spell with quivering lips and tongue and felt a horrible pain followed by a hot sticky torrent over his chest before he slumped fully into the water, dropping his wand onto the floor as he did.

 

The world became immediately muffled and blurred. Harry tried to concentrate on the ceiling through the water but found it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. He allowed them to drift close as the water around him turned red.

 

He was vaguely aware of strong hands hauling him from the cooling water and of being slapped vigorously on the back as he was turned on his side. A loud cracking sound followed by the reverberation of glass smashing managed to seep through his consciousness.

 

“Harry!”

 

Someone was calling his name. What was happening? Was he dead? Had it worked?

 

A warm hand rested firmly on his neck.

 

“Harry, mate, come on, please. Just stay with me!”

 

The darkness called to him and he drifted towards it. He must have done it. It must have worked.

 

_Please let it have worked._

 

 *******

 

A stringent, antiseptic smell was the first thing he noticed. Harry wondered why the afterlife smelled so much like a hospital. Surely it was meant to be honeysuckle and gingerbread and peppermint. Not ammonia.

 

Voices started to drift into his sense of awareness.

 

“We’re not sure when he’ll wake up,” said an unfamiliar but compassionate voice, “He’d lost a lost of blood before you got him to us.”

 

“But he _will_ wake up, yeah?”

 

That was Ron. But Ron couldn’t be dead, could he? Not before Harry, anyway. He was at The Burrow for the party.

 

“We would expect so,” the unknown voice replied, comforting and reassuring, though in a practiced way, “There was no damage to his central nervous system that we can find. He’ll still have some scarring but it can be minimised with potions and creams. The curse he used was tricky but we think we’ve reversed it well enough.”

 

“Well enough?” an irate voice interjected. That was Hermione, for sure. She couldn’t have died as well, could she? Harry felt himself begin to panic. “We’re not looking for ‘well enough’, Healer Ross! This is out best friend! He’s the saviour of our world for Merlin’s sake!”

 

“Hermione…” Ron’s voice said soothingly.

 

“Don’t you start, Ronald!” Hermione cried, her voice thick with worry and tears, “Harry’s lying there and these so-called professionals are telling us they’ve done ‘well enough’ when what he needs is the _best_! He’s… he could have _died_ , Ron!”

 

Harry became vaguely aware of the scratchiness of the sheets beneath and over him and the other noises in the room. He heard a beeping noise from close by and noted that it corresponded to the pulsing in his ears, which must be his heartbeat.

 

Bugger. This wasn’t heaven.

 

He was alive.

 

“I know, Hermione,” Ron said, trying to calm Hermione, “I think Harry knew that too…”

 

There was a sad, lingering silence after this.

 

Harry eased his eyelids open with great effort and blinked at the blurry bright light above him before squeezing his eyes closed again. An involuntary groan escaped him and he heard and felt a flurry of activity around him.

 

“Mr Potter? Mr Potter, can you hear me?” said the voice that must have belonged to Healer Ross.

 

“Harry? Open your eyes, Harry! It’s us, Hermione and Ron,” Hermione begged, clutching his right hand tightly, “We’re here.”

 

Harry blinked his eyes open and saw three, slightly unfocussed faces peering down at him. He immediately closed his eyes again, not bothering to fight the tears that built behind his eyelids.

 

He took a deep breath but a raw sob escaped him and he felt a sharp, tugging pain at his neck. He supposed it was the healing skin where he’d tried to sever his jugular.

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, her own voice full of tears and emotion, “Oh, we’re here. You’re all right.”

 

She gripped his hand tightly and brought it to her lips, kissing his knuckles.

 

“Why?” he asked, “Why am I still here? I don’t want to be.”

 

Hermione pulled his hand to her chest and began to weep openly as well. She sniffled but kept a tight hold on his hand. Harry opened his eyes and saw Ron, stony-faced but bright-eyed as he wrapped an arm around his wife.

 

Healer Ross moved closer to the bedside. “Mr Potter,” he said, voice low and calming, “I am Healer Ross. I just need to run some tests, okay? It shouldn’t hurt but it might tingle a little.”

 

Indeed, a vibrating sensation skimmed over Harry’s skin and he shivered a little at the feeling. To distract himself from the bizarre sensation he looked around the room they were in. Beside him was an orb that seemed to be emitting the beeping noises keeping time with his pulse. It glowed a pale pink colour and pulsated in time with the beeping. The rest of the room was pure white, though there was a small crest on the glass window to the door of the room. Even backwards, Harry could tell this was the crest of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

 

He closed his eyes again, willing himself to be back in his bathroom at Grimmauld Place.

 

How had they saved him this time? He’d thought blocked the Floo and all the Weasleys should have been celebrating Ginny’s birthday and bee too distracted to try seeing him again. Luna and Rolf would have been at the party too and he’d not seen Andromeda since he’d tried to pick up Teddy. She’d never come to Grimmauld Place anyway.

 

It should have been perfect.

The vibrations stopped and Healer Ross pocked his wand before scribbling down some information on a chart. He was a tall man, with short brown hair, greying at his temples. He had a kind face, with laughter lines around his eyes. His green robes were slightly rumpled as though he had been wearing them a long time.

 

“What time it is?” Harry asked, his voice hoarse.

 

“Nearly four in the morning,” the Healer responded, “You are in the emergency admissions unit. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for several hours. We had to give you blood replenishing potions via a tube to help you swallow.”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Who found me?” he asked croakily.

 

“Harry, I don’t think it’s the time-“ Hermione started.

 

“ _Who_ found me?” Harry asked again, more firmly, and opened his eyes to look accusingly at his friends. They glanced at each other, anxiety written all over their faces. Ron’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

 

“Me,” he said, voice shaky and quiet. “I did.”

 

“How?” Harry asked simply.

 

“The clock,” Ron replied, “It… it moved from ’home’ to ‘mortal peril’ whilst I was having tea with mum. She’s outside with Dad.”

 

Harry sighed and turned away. He’d forgotten about the clock.

 

“Harry, we-“

 

“I’d like to be alone,” Harry said, cutting Hermione off. Healer Ross was watching him closely and Harry closed his eyes again, keen to blot out his surroundings.

 

“Oh, Harry, please!” Hermione almost wailed, “We just want to help.”

 

“Just leave me alone,” he said, quietly.

 

“But-“

 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

 

Magic pulsed from Harry in a sharp burst followed by small aftershocks. The orb beside his bed began to rattle and float and the chairs in the room all scraped back several inches.

 

The silence took on a tangible substance after Harry’s outburst. The orb banged back onto the table.

 

His friends were soundless as they left the room and Harry turned onto his side, curling into himself. His left wrist was bandaged and he felt the tug of taped-on dressings at his neck.

 

Healer Ross moved closer to the bed. “I suggest you sleep, Mr Potter, “ he said, looking slightly nervous, “We’ll be moving you to a private room in a couple of hours, once we know you’re completely stabilised. One of my colleagues shall be with you during the day to… discuss things further.”

 

Harry said nothing, though he didn’t miss the slight stumble in Healer Ross’s speech, and curled more tightly into himself. He heard Healer Ross speaking to one of the assistants in quiet undertones, asking him to remain in the room and exchanging a few words including ‘uncontrolled’ and ‘unsafe’. Harry screwed up his eyes tightly. It seemed he was to be watched at all times until he was moved to a safer area.

 

Harry suspected this ‘safer’ area would include a locked room and a constant guard as well.

 

*******

 

Harry had been right. He glanced around the small, clinically white room he’d been confined to. Healer Ross had said it would just be temporary, until they new team had done some more tests and Healer Lowell had been in to interview him, but Harry had a bad feeling about it all. What kind of hospital locked its patients into the room?

 

He knew they’d be wary of him trying to take his own life again. If he were being honest, their fears were actually quite well founded. He still didn’t want to be alive. But now it was much worse because Hermione was crying and Ron was stressed and Molly Weasley was apparently beside herself.

 

Harry had messed up again. He hated himself and just wished he’d died so he didn’t have to feel anything anymore.

 

He sat on the single bed with his back to the wall, resting his head against it. The iron bedstead was the same as all the other beds in St Mungo’s, as far as Harry could tell, and the sheets were the same scratchy material that he’d been given in the emergency unit. He was dressed in the standard issue hospital pyjama bottoms and a gown that fastened at the back.

 

Ron, he assumed, was holding his wand after having found him, but he’d not seen his friends to be given the chance to ask. He hoped Hermione would bring him some other clothes so he could leave straight after the new Healer had spoken to him.

 

The lock clicked open at the door but Harry stayed where he was. Hermione came in, though she wasn’t carrying anything with her – in fact, she’d taken off her outer robe and jewellery too. Her eyes were red rimmed but she tried to give Harry a shaky smile.

 

“May I sit down?” she asked, indicating the space on the bed beside Harry. He tilted his head, confused. What was going on? Hermione seemed… afraid.

 

The realisation startled him and Harry gaped at her. “Why are you scared?” he asked quietly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

Her eyes began to fill with tears again but she quickly wiped them away and sat on the edge of the bed. “I know, Harry,” she said, her voice wobbling slightly. “Not physically anyway. Not on purpose.”

 

Harry’s chest tightened and he looked at his bare feet. He’d already hurt her, he supposed numbly.

 

He looked back up at Hermione and let out a small, derisive laugh even as his own eyes filled with tears, “Oh, god, Hermione, please don’t look at me like that.”

 

“Like what?” she asked, puzzled. Her brow furrowed but the look in her eyes remained.

 

“Like you pity me,” Harry said, “For Merlin’s sake, please don’t pity me. Couldn’t stand that.”

 

She looked quickly to her own hands and then back up at him, her eyes lingering on the neck bandages. “I’m just sad, Harry,” she whispered, “Because you promised us you’d come to us for help if you were struggling. You left us out again and we could have helped.”

 

Hermione fell silent and Harry felt the guilt welling up inside him again. “Didn’t properly realise I was struggling, I reckon,” he said to his feet, unable to look at her. “Not sure I can see it properly even now. Don’t know if anyone could have stopped it.”

 

They sat, Harry staring blankly at the opposite wall whilst Hermione seemed to be gathering her thoughts.

 

“Why, Harry?” she asked quietly, “I know things have been hard since Snape-“

 

“It wasn’t because of Severus,” Harry interrupted, quickly. “Not just Severus, anyway. It’s been building for a while.”

 

He sighed.

 

“I just want to go home now.”

 

“They won’t let you, Harry,” Hermione said, softly and sadly, “They’ll… they said they’ll take legal steps to keep you here if you try to leave.”

 

“What?” Harry looked up at her in panic, “They can’t do that!”

 

Hermione shook her head, “They can, Harry.”

 

“But… But I know the risks if I go out. It’s like the Muggle hospital – I’ll tell them I won’t do it again and that I’ll see someone and that I understand the risks and then they _have_ to let me go, Hermione. They have to!”

 

“Wizard law is different,” she said, “They just have to say they’re worried you’re dangerous and that’s it. They don’t have to prove it.”

 

“But I’m not _dangerous_ , Hermione!” Harry cried before pausing and adding more quietly, “Why do they think I’m dangerous?”

 

Hermione bit and worried at her lip, clearly unsure of telling him the truth. Eventually, she said, “You destroyed Grimmauld Place, Harry. They don’t know that but they saw your uncontrolled wandless magic down the stairs and they’re… they’re scared. They think-“

 

“They think I’m the next Voldemort,” Harry interjected, finally realising why he’d been locked away in a bare room without his wand. But they knew he could do wandless magic. In fact, Harry often did it so easily he forgot he hadn’t used his wand.

 

Hermione didn’t confirm his statement out loud but her silence spoke volumes anyway.

 

“They think I’m the next Dark Lord because I made some chairs move and an orb float?”

 

“It was more than that, Harry. The entire waiting room had been moved as well,” Hermione said.

 

Harry tried to quell the rising nausea at finding out his magic had been so out of control with his emotions. Maybe they were right? Maybe he was dangerous.

 

Could that be what his dreams were about? Was _he_ the one casting the Killing Curse this time?

 

“How long until this gets into the papers?” he asked quietly, feeling horribly cold and blunt. _If it’s not already the headline: ‘Potter goes Potty: a Hero to Villain Story?’_

 

“We’re going to do our best to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Hermione replied quickly and sharply, “Ron and his parents are coming up with a plan. We’ll work it out.” Her eyes were blazing with protective fury. Harry wished he could be optimistic about her chances.

 

“Is that why you’re the only one here?” he asked. He’d tried to ignore the fear growing at the back of his mind that Ron and his parents were afraid of him too.

 

“They’re only letting us in one at a time,” Hermione answered softly, “And only if we consent to being searched and to hand in our wands. I suspect Molly will want to see you soon. Ron too but he’d busy like I said.”

 

“They know about my magic, though,” Harry said, mind whirling with questions and fear and panic. The bed vibrated a little under them and Hermione grabbed his hand, careful of his bandages. The bed stilled and Harry took a deep breath. “I didn’t realise it had got so out of control. They know it’s wandless but they’ve not done anything about that yet. Hermione,” he began, watching her as an icy chill rose within him, “What are they going to do to me?”

 

Would they hand him over to the Ministry? Would he be sent to Azkaban? The possibilities swirled around his head, giving him a headache.

 

Hermione clutched his hand tightly and her lips pressed into a thin line. She shook her head again slightly and her brown eyes conveyed her own fear.

 

“I don’t know, Harry. I just don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect if you're reading this fiction then you'll know the following already but I'll write it anyway.
> 
> Depression and suicide are extremely important issues in our society and they carry an unfortunate stigma still, despite all the great work of charities and the mental health resources within the medical profession to make it otherwise. If you're having a hard time, please talk to someone. If you suspect others are having difficulties talk to them. Or at least ask one of their friends to do so. Or point them in the direction of local health services or the resources below.
> 
> I am very lucky to live in a country with healthcare (mental and physical) that is free at the point of use. I have benefited from the mental health services in my area for many years. I hope we can raise awareness and acceptance of such important and prevalent conditions in the near future.
> 
>  
> 
> https://www.mind.org.uk/  
> https://www.samaritans.org/  
> https://www.seemescotland.org/
> 
> Many thanks again,  
> Clare


	15. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'After a dismal four weeks with only his thoughts and memories to accompany him, Severus knew he needed to go to Harry again. To try to explain, to ask forgiveness, to at least be friends if they could.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> I have posted two chapters at time this time so please make sure you read chapter 14 before 15.
> 
> These were incredibly hard to write chapters. I hope they satisfy.  
> C.O.
> 
> P.S. Comments are lovely whatever you want to say. Many thanks for reading.

Severus opened the door to his cottage for the first time in a month. A fine mist of dust danced in the light that streamed in through the open door as he stepped through. A flick of his wand lit the lamps and Severus placed his feather-light suitcase on to the first step of the stairs.

 

He’d need to freshen the place up, he thought, despondently. Everything, thankfully, was still in place and his plants had maintained themselves nicely under a stasis spell.

 

He’d sort it after a cup of tea, he thought. No need to impress anyone, after all.

 

After a month away from the cottage, from England, Severus was no closer to his goal of forgetting Harry Potter. In fact, he’d spent most of his time sitting in Parisian bars and thinking that Harry would love the wine, would squirm a little at some of the food, and would look absolutely wonderful spread beneath him on his hotel sheets.

 

Not for want of trying, he’d been unable to fully appreciate the French apothecary on _Rue de les Merveilles_ or the Wizarding Wing of the Louvre where the true masterpieces of the Renaissance painters were displayed in their full, gloriously animated forms. He’d had to just walk away from the Eifel Tower when the sight of kissing couples had assaulted him. He’d have scorned the cliché of so many young men proposing at the landmark had he not been so disquieted.

 

Overall, it had been a miserable holiday.

 

Only one good thing had come of it, though it was a little hard to swallow. Minerva had been right.

 

Merlin it hurt to even think that.

 

But after a dismal four weeks with only his thoughts and memories to accompany him, Severus knew he needed to go to Harry again. To try to explain, to ask forgiveness, to at least be friends if they could.

 

He hadn’t quite realised just how much Harry had truly brought to his life until he wasn’t there anymore. The last two months and a bit had been awful when compared to the prior three.

 

Severus had allowed himself to become the coward he’d always hated to be told he was. He’d listened to the voices of critics when he should have listened to his heart for once. His poor, wasted heart had been screaming at him to be brave, to take the chance with it for once. It wanted Severus to let Harry _in_.

 

He had been sitting in a small café on the Montmartre, sipping on a café au lait when he’d realised he was in love with Harry.

 

There was no specific trigger. He’d been trying to read a new novel as he drank and he’d just realised. Severus wanted Harry with him for nothing more than to have Harry there. The bells of the Sacre Coeur rang out as Severus had dashed up, leaving his coffee and his novel on the table, needing desperately to get home.

 

All of his fears and worries hadn’t disappeared completely. He still worried what might be made of the gap in their years and he feared the invasion of the press into his life. But it all seemed to pale in comparison to his love for Harry Potter.

 

After tea, Severus set about cleaning the house, setting feather dusters to clean and making his way around the cottage to tidy any loose ends away.

 

There might not be anyone to impress at the moment, he thought, but maybe soon there would be.

 

*******

 

This was not good, Severus thought as he rounded the corner to Harry’s townhouse flat.

 

He had stopped abruptly as he saw several well-known Cursebreakers surveying the outside of the building whilst a young Auror kept watch at the door. They were all dressed in Muggle clothing but Severus could see the insignia of their professions sewn into their lightweight jackets.

 

The Cursebreakers were muttering some inaudible spells and moving their wands in complicated movements as subtly as they could. Severus knew one of them to be Terry Boot, who’d been at Hogwarts in the same year as Harry. Boot was surveying a window on the first floor through some modified Omnioculars and shaking his head slightly.

Severus looked up at the window and his heart froze. The glass had been shattered by the looks of it, by something with great force, and the remaining shards were pure black. The wooden frame was scorched as though it had been set on fire.

 

It was Harry’s window. Severus had looked out of it enough to know what the opposite view would be.

 

He started forward involuntarily. When had this happened? Where was Harry? His mind whirred with questions and possible catastrophes that could have occurred. An immediate wall of magic hit him as soon as he got within 20 metres of the building itself. He had to stop and steady himself on the lamppost.

 

When he felt less dazed, Severus realised he was within hearing distance of the crew of Cursebreakers. A wizard whose shirt bore the crest of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had joined them. They didn’t seem to be at all affected by the thick fog of magic around them. Incompetents, all of them, he suspected.

 

“Not sure we’ll crack this one without knowing who the caster was,” Boot was saying to the new wizard, who had steely grey hair and matching eyes. “It’s just too powerful a signature and it’s mixing with the curses in the strangest way.”

 

“And you can’t get a handle on a signature that powerful?” asked the grey wizard incredulously, “Surely there are only a few-“

 

“Like Terry said,” the other Cursebreaker, who was a bit older and apparently more experienced in dealing with complaints over their work, “It’s all muddled up. We can’t unpick this much magic without knowing who the witch or wizard was or without taking months – maybe years!”

 

The grey wizard looked displeased. “Years? My neck’s on the line with this one, lads,” he growled, “It’s been over two months. The boss is saying we can’t keep funnelling so many resources into this but we can’t leave the place like this without the Muggles becoming suspicious.”

 

“How about a Glamour?” Boot suggested, and Severus watched the hackles rise on the grey wizard immediately. It would have been rather entertaining had Severus not been so worried.

 

“Don’t you think we’ve tried that? The Reversal Squad has tried it several times already and the Muggle-Worthy Excuses lot are running out of ways to make it believable as a gas leak!” The grey-haired man snapped and rubbed his eyes.

 

Terry Boot blushed a deep crimson and said nothing more.

 

“Suppose we should call it a day for now anyway,” said the older Cursebreaker, “We’ve made no progress in four hours and I’m knackered and starving. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

“Our Department is shelling out galleons for you lot and we’re nowhere close,” muttered the Ministry wizard to himself as he walked away, “Sodding Gringotts says it’s got the best Cursebreakers. Best bloody Cursebreakers my arse…”

 

Severus hurried away from the street as the other wizards dispersed. No point in being seen somewhere a crime had apparently been committed. He was not exactly known for purely driven intentions.

 

His stomach was twisted in knots and his jaw had been clenching and unclenching as he’d listened. A powerful curse had been laid upon Harry’s flat and they didn’t know who had done it. No one had mentioned Harry at all. Did the Ministry even know that Harry owned a flat in Muggle London?

 

And it had been like this for more than two months?!

 

Severus paused when he’d gotten far enough away to be out of sight of the building and street. Where could Harry be now? Where would he live if his flat had been damaged beyond repair?

 

He could be living with the Weasley-Granger pair and their spawn. Or perhaps with Andromeda and Teddy? But Severus wasn’t entirely sure where Andromeda lived these days. The parental Weasleys would definitely have offered to house Harry for as long as he needed.

 

A thought flowered in Severus’ mind and refused to be cut back even when he tried to dismiss it.

 

He supposed it was worth a try.

 

*******

 

It was another shock to see 12 Grimmauld Place with its windows blown out and blackened and all of the Muggles passing by without any recognition that there was a dilapidated building there at all.

 

There were no crews of Ministry officials here, swarming the place like a colony of ants. Severus suspected the unplottable charm was still in place. The same wall of magic was radiating from the house as from the flat but this was mixed with something much fresher and darker. It felt disturbingly like death.

 

Severus didn’t try to enter the house. He knew about the protective measures Mad-Eye Moody had set against him when he’d seemingly defected to the Dark Lord, and whilst he was sure that Harry would likely have had them removed, he did not wish to chance being faced with a vengeful spectre of Albus Dumbeldore.

 

Instead, he turned and walked back towards the Apparition point nearby and tried to plan his next move.

 

He desperately needed to make sure Harry was all right now. Not one, but two of his properties had been destroyed with what felt ominously like Dark Magic.

 

Severus supposed he could try the Burrow but it was not somewhere he would likely be welcome without some kind of forewarning. He’d rather not have his nose hexed off, thanks. There were probably wards as well. Arthur Weasley was not a stupid man by any means and he’d want to protect his family even if they were technically living in peace times.

 

Surely if there had been some news of Harry the entire wizarding population would be full of chatter about it? Perhaps Minerva would know? Or might even know where to find Granger and Weasley.

 

Having made up his mind, Severus decided to head back to his house to contact Minerva and try to minimise his wild Harry chase as much as he could.

 

Harry had to be okay. He had to be.

 

*******

 

Minerva had been only so helpful as to provide him with the last known address of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. She’d had no information on Harry, and Severus thought she looked particularly troubled by this. Harry may have tried to stay out of the limelight as much as possible but he was rarely successful. That his name had been kept out of the press for over a month was nearly unbelievable.

 

Apparently, Granger had been quite tight-lipped on the whole subject of her best friend whenever Minerva had tried to ask the last time they had met. Minerva had taken it as a bit of a boon at the time when, after Harry was brought up, Granger had stopped trying to talk about Elf rights and bid her goodbyes rather hurriedly.

 

However, Severus had the address he needed now. Perhaps Harry was staying with the pair until his houses were fixed. At the very least, Granger and Weasley would surely know where Harry was.

 

Noting the Muggle-friendly area the address was situated in, Severus had donned his black slacks and a grey jacket. The weather was just starting to turn towards the colder side, though, it may have just been the difference to the August weather he’d experienced in Paris that made Severus feel cold. He’d blame the weather rather than his smouldering fear.

 

It was six in the evening by the time Severus managed to get to the Weasley-Granger household and the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. Groups of young children were still playing in the street of semi-detached, mostly non-descript, brick houses. He noted the watchful eye of one of the mothers upon him as he headed towards the address written on his piece of paper.

 

_7 Mill Street, Applesea Village, Devon._

 

The house was of similar build to the others on the street. The only differences Severus could detect were the slightly unusual round window in the roof, that Severus suspected was for use with a telescope or for owls, and that a number of plants in the small garden were of a magical variety. Everything was subtle enough to pass off as entirely Muggle.

 

It was rather impressive in its ordinariness, Severus begrudgingly admitted to himself. He supposed he ought not to have been surprised, as Granger had been brought up by Muggles so would know how to hide magic in plain sight.

 

Severus noted that the nosy Muggle woman had scurried back inside and he decided it was time to make a move, else he be arrested by the Muggle law enforcers for loitering or similar nonsense.

 

He made his way with the stone path to number seven, fighting a dual sense of anticipation and dread at what might be revealed to him. He knocked on the door, with a resoluteness he wasn’t sure he truly felt, and stood back.

 

Sounds of confused voices could be heard from behind the door. There was a squeal of a very young child and then the light turned on behind the front door, which opened to reveal an older and puzzled-looking Hermione Granger.

 

Her eyes widened almost comically when she saw him and her mouth dropped open.

 

“Professor!” she cried, remaining stock still in her position holding the door open.

 

“Miss Granger,” Severus replied in greeting. The child – Rose, Severus recalled – shrieked and giggled from what Severus supposed might be the living room or perhaps kitchen.

 

The two of them stood in their respective decisions, Severus unwilling, for once, to invite himself in and Granger looking as though her considerable brain had wiped itself clean and was desperately trying to reform some kind of thought.

 

“Hermione?” a male voice called from inside the house, “Hermione who is it? Everything all-“

 

Ron Weasley had just entered the hall behind his wife, who had managed to turn herself to face her husband. Weasley stopped speaking the moment he caught sight of Severus. His face turned an alarming shade of red and Severus barely had time to register alarm before Weasley had stormed forward and a blazing pain flared across the left side of Severus’ jaw.

 

He stumbled back slightly, eyes closed and his ears ringing.

 

“RONALD!” Granger shrieked, “Stop it!”

 

“You _bastard_!” Weasley was shouting, “You utter fucking bastard! Let go of me, Hermione!”

 

“No! And if you don’t calm down I’ll put you in a full body-bind, Ronald Weasley! Ron, the neighbours will see!”

 

Severus shook his head slightly, wincing at the burst of pain in his jaw and head, and managed to open his eyes. He straightened up and saw Granger squaring up to her much taller husband who was split between glaring at Severus and glancing pleadingly at his wife.

 

“The neighbours can suck a Grindylow,” he said and gestured forcefully at Severus. “That dick is part of the what caused Harry’s problem!”

 

“What’s the problem with Harry?” Severus asked immediately. His heart clenched and pounded furiously in his chest. His jaw tightened. “Where is he? His flat is swarming with Ministry operatives and Grimmauld Place is ruined. Is he okay?”

 

Granger was surveying him critically, frowning as she did so. It seemed as though she was trying to see into his mind, though Severus could not feel the all-too-familiar probe of Legillimency.

 

Before she could say anything, Weasley burst out angrily, “Like we’d tell you anything, you greasy git!”

 

“Ronald, that’s _enough_!” Granger shouted, fuming with rage, “Get back inside if you can’t be helpful! Well? Go!” She pointed into the back room and her husband shot one last scowl at Severus before retreating, grumbling all the while.

 

The young woman turned to face him, admirably composed for the exchange that had just taken place. She skimmed over his appearance briefly before speaking again.

 

“Why are you here, Professor?” she asked, “You’ll have no doubt figured out that Harry told us about you.”

 

The latter wasn’t a question but Severus felt compelled to nod anyway. Granger had an oddly commanding persona these days.

 

She continued to watch him and Severus realised she was awaiting a response to her question.

 

“I would like to see Harry,” he said, “I wish to speak with him. I cannot find him.” When she was silent, Severus decided to through caution to the wind, “I wish to… apologise. And I am concerned.”

 

Granger raised an eyebrow and continued to scrutinise him. She seemed to come to some kind of conclusion as she nodded and waved him inside the house. “You’d better come inside. This will take some time.”

 

She led him into a small front room, which could have been described as either a living room or a playroom, depending on whether one counted the scattered toys over the comfortable-looking sofas and fireplace. Severus paused to observe the room. A Muggle television sat in one corner and a playpen in another, though as most of the toys were on the floor, Severus guessed it wasn’t used all that much.

 

Pictures, both Magic and Muggle lined the mantelpiece and a set of in-built wall shelves held a variety of books. It was very homely.

 

“We were just having dinner,” Granger said, as though to fill the silence, “Sorry for the mess, Molly tends to spoil Rose and I’ve not had a chance to clean yet. Not long in from…”

 

She trailed off and coughed. Severus frowned deeply and turned to ask her where she’d been when something hit his ankle.

 

“Howard!” he exclaimed, when he saw the small Pygmy Puff’s at his feet, rolling its way around in a small blue ball. He bent down and picked the ball up, retrieving the small creature from inside it. It cooed faintly and he stroked it. “His ball was orange,” Severus stated.

 

“He needed a new one,” Granger said, not meeting his gaze, “The… the flat…”

 

“Why is Harry’s pet here?” Severus interrupted her, alarmed and fearful, “What has happened? Where is Harry?”

 

Granger looked awkwardly around her living room. “Maybe you should sit down?” she suggested.

 

“Why do you refuse to tell me?”

 

“I’m _not_!” Granger shouted, looking angry and sorrowful at the same time before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to compose herself, “I’m not. It’s just… complicated.”

 

“’Mione?” Weasley asked as he popped his head round the door, “You okay? Do I need to-“

 

“No, Ron, no,” she replied, “It’s fine. The Professor just wants to know where Harry is and I need a moment to think.”

 

Weasley stepped into the room, this time carrying a small redheaded child. She was curly haired like her mother but had her father’s blue eyes. Her giggling had stopped and when she saw her mother, Rose reached out chubby hands. Granger complied and held her daughter to her tightly, as though seeking comfort in the small body.

 

Severus felt a pang as he watched the young family interact. The parents, at such a young age, had lived through terror, torture, a war, and yet they had brought such innocence into the world; such hope. It was something he had once wished for himself before he’d become jaded with experience and age. Granger and Weasley communicated with each other silently and then looked to Severus at the same time.

 

Weasley still looked angry and resentful, though he had wrapped a tender arm around his wife. Granger’s brown eyes were full of sadness and uncertainty but she stood resolutely before him.

 

“Please, Professor Snape, sit down.”

 

Severus did so without broaching any more argument and sat in one of the soft armchairs. Weasley and Granger settled themselves on the sofa, Granger still holding her daughter.

 

“I have to ask what you know, Professor?” Granger asked after a moment of silence, “There is some… speculation that has spread regarding Harry and we’re keen to dispel what we can. I also have to ask what your intentions are?”

 

“My intentions?” Severus asked, warily.

 

“I’m trying to protect Harry,” Granger said frankly, “He’s my best friend.”

 

Severus nodded but was quiet. It didn’t seem to be the entirely the right motivation.

 

“Harry isn’t well,” Granger obliged. Weasley snorted and earned himself a brown-eyed glare from his wife.

 

“Where is he?” Severus asked, trying to stifle his terror.

 

“St. Mungo’s,” Weasley said, with a sneer, “Secure section of Janus Thickley ward. That make you happy?”

 

Severus felt his insides freeze and then the boiling of fury began within his stomach. “Happy?” he spat.

 

“Ron,” Granger said warningly but Weasley ignored her.

 

“You didn’t seem to care when you left him heartbroken enough to destroy his flat,” the redhead continued savagely, “Or sobbing on our sofa all night.”

 

Severus glowered menacingly but inwardly he quailed at the accusations and hearing of Harry’s sorrow. “How dare you ask if I am happy that my… my lover is incarcerated within what passes for a psychiatric ward? You are utterly-“

 

“Not your lover anymore,” Weasley interrupted, cruelly, “Not since you left him.”

 

This brought Severus up short. It was true. Howard quivered in his lap and Severus closed his eyes. What had he done?

 

“Ron,” Granger said softly but firmly, “You know that’s not the reason Harry’s there!”

 

“But-“

 

“No,” Granger stopped him firmly, “Professor Snape wants to apologise. He deserves a chance. Harry would want it.”

 

Severus regarded her, feeling grateful, “Thank you, Ms Granger. That is very magnanimous.”

 

She turned her gaze to him, her eyes hard and critical, and said, “I’m only looking out for Harry. He still says he misses you.”

 

For a while, the only noise in the room was that of Rose who was gurgling as she watched Severus with her large blue eyes. She, too, seemed to be appraising him.

 

“Why does no one know? Minerva had heard nothing of this. How has this been kept out of the papers?” Severus asked, truly interested.

 

“With great difficulty,” Weasley replied through clenched teeth. He ignored the disapproving look from his wife who then turned to Severus to elaborate.

 

“Ron found Harry in Grimmauld Place the night he… The night we had to take him to St. Mungo’s and Apparated him straight into the emergency department. The Healers are sworn to confidentiality. It’s only us and the rest of the Weasleys who know at the moment. I told Andromeda he’d gone on holiday so Teddy wouldn’t worry. I also managed to… um,” Granger paused for a second, “basically prevent any journalist at the _Prophet_ who’s tried to write anything about Harry for the last month. It’s not going to last forever. Just, the quills won’t write anything to do with him. George had some spelled quills sent to the office after all the original ones… mysteriously incinerated themselves... We’re trying to come up with something a little more long term.”

 

Severus took a moment to admire her cunning before he realised what she’d said. “A month?” he asked, “He’s been there a month?”

 

The couple glanced at each other before they both nodded.

 

“He won’t speak to any of the staff,” Granger whispered, “He’s… He doesn’t think there is any point. He just kind of… sits there now.”

 

She looked guilty, Severus thought. What weren’t they telling him? He asked them as such and they suddenly looked every bit the naughty students caught out of bounds he’d remembered.

 

“Ms Granger; Mr Weasley,” Severus said authoritatively, “You will tell me what is going on with Harry. You asked me my intentions? I will tell you.”

 

They looked at one another in shock before staring at Severus, clearly on tenterhooks.

 

He’d longed for this kind of spellbound attention as a teacher without resorting to punishment or threat thereof. He’d be one of the first to admit that the profession was not his forte or dream job but he’d taken pride in passing on his knowledge to the better able students.

 

“I wish to apologise to Harry,” he started, “To tell him my reasons and my fears. To tell him how I truly feel. None of which relates to harming him in any way. I would hope you would respect our right to privacy when I will not tell you the exact feels I have for him. It is my firm belief he should hear it first.”

 

Weasley looked mildly confused but Granger was looking at him with an expression full of pride and approval. She understood. It would enough.

 

Granger took a deep breath and passed Rose over to her husband. Apparently, this needed her full attention.

 

“Harry tried to… to kill himself the night we took him in,” she said quietly but maintaining eye contact with Severus.

 

He was glad he was sitting down because Severus had the feeling his legs would have collapsed otherwise. “What?”

 

“Ron found him just in time,” Granger continued as though she hadn’t heard the question, “His magic had destroyed most of the house. When he woke up, the Healers were worried about how much uncontrolled power he seemed to have. That’s why he’d in the secure wing.”

 

Severus’ mind seemed to have gone on strike. He blinked several times and swallowed hard before he tried to speak.

 

“He… he tried to… _kill_ himself?”

 

Granger’s hand came to rest on top of his own. She had moved forward at some point and was kneeling in front of him. She tried feverishly to maintain eye contact. She nodded and said, “He’s tried it before. Before you met up again. He was getting better and that’s why he was out that night.”

 

“What night?” Weasley asked. Granger shushed him.

 

“He’s… The Healers are calling it a psychotic breakdown,” she continued quietly, “But the Muggle doctors called it a severe depressive episode the last time.”

 

Severus took a moment to absorb this new information about Harry. He’d been depressed before? Had he been depressed when they were together? Why hadn’t he said anything?

 

“The Healers aren’t quite sure how to handle it,” Granger said, “They can deal with curses and Magical accidents and they’ve fixed him externally. But the Magical community doesn’t really deal with mental health very well at all.”

 

“Then why is he there?” Severus asked. He felt numb and a little disconcerted. “Why can he not be released to those who care for him? There is Muggle psychiatry we could employ is there not?”

 

Granger said nothing and looked at the floor. It was the Weasley boy that answered.

 

“They think he’s dangerous,” he said, anger apparent in his entire being, “We asked to bring him home with us but Harry told the Healers not to even think about it. He’s worried he’ll hurt Rosie or us.”

 

Severus closed his eyes. It was so like Harry to put the safety of his friends above his own welfare or happiness. It broke his heart into tiny, sharp pieces that each pierced the others. The pain he felt at what he was hearing was unbelievable.

 

Severus took a deep breath and steadied his already strong resolve. He opened his eyes to see Granger and Weasley eyeing him nervously.

 

“Take me to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again.


	16. A Visit to St. Mungo's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'They were standing at the reception desk that marked the entrance to the Janus Thickey Secure Wing. That the already locked ward required a ‘secure’ section was somewhat disturbing and ironic to Severus, though he kept this to himself.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all many times over for continuing to read and for the comments and kudos!
> 
> As a small note, I have personal experience of healthcare and of many doctors and nurses who do wonderful jobs working in mental health. The Wizarding world needs some work on their systems and beliefs, I think. No original characters are based on any people in particular.
> 
> I hope you find this chapter to be enjoyable.  
> C.O.

Severus had never had a problem with hospitals before.

 

He knew many people who said they didn’t like them. He knew no one who said they did. Even the Healers and Medi-wizards and witches who worked in hospitals didn’t seem to like spending time there all that much.

 

It seemed that most people responded to hospitals in emotional rather than logical fashions. They were places of sickness, suffering, and death to many. But people forgot about the healing, the easing of torment, and the life that also occurred within such walls.

 

But right now, Severus _hated_ hospitals. He especially despised St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked icily.

 

The receptionist gulped and seemed to shrink behind her desk. Severus vaguely remembered her to be one of his Hufflepuff students who’d given Longbottom a run for his money at being a catastrophe in the potions lab.

 

“Uuh,” she gulped, “I, um…”

 

“Yes?” Severus probed, raising an eyebrow. He was vaguely pleased that he could still be so imposing after all these years.

 

“I, um, have to ask you t-to t-turn in y-your w-wand, sir,” she stuttered again before adding hurriedly, “I mean, Professor, sir. Professor Snape, sir.”

 

She coughed awkwardly and Severus glared at her.

 

“My wand?”

 

She cowered.

 

“Professor,” Granger’s voice said from behind him, clearly trying to pacify him. Severus wasn’t sure if she knew she was failing entirely. He was unsure if anything could placate him right now. “It’s just procedure, Professor. The secure wing doesn’t allow any non-staff to carry wands.”

 

They were standing at the reception desk that marked the entrance to the Janus Thickey Secure Wing. That the already locked ward required a ‘secure’ section was somewhat disturbing and ironic to Severus, though he kept this to himself. The magnolia walls were offensive in their blandness. The floor was made up of a mosaic design and at the centre of each small pattern was the St. Mungo’s crest – a wand crossed over a bone. Severus crushed his heel into one of them, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction in the small act of unnoticed rebellion. Granger had been the only one to accompany him to the hospital, leaving Weasley to look after their daughter (and to cool off, Severus suspected even though they'd waited until the next day to visit Harry).

 

“I care little for ‘procedure’, Ms Granger,” he said sharply, “I have not been separated voluntarily from my wand for a good many years and I see no reason why now should be any different.”

 

Granger opened her mouth to reply and the receptionist looked like she was about to just wave them on, keen to avoid Severus’ wrath any further when a rather pompous-looking witch in Healer’s robes approached the desk.

 

“Problems, Veronica?” she asked the quaking receptionist, though she was looking directly at Severus.

 

“Um,” gawped the girl, who Severus now remembered to be called Veronica Weatherby. It seemed her intelligence hadn’t improved with age.

 

“I was merely highlighting to Miss Weatherby that my wand shall remain firmly in my possession for the duration of my visit,” Severus stated assertively, his hand gripping his wand reflexively in his jacket pocket. He heard Granger groan in resignation behind him.

 

The Healer looked him up and down, taking in his Muggle attire and rigid posture. She didn’t appear to recognise him and she clearly found him wanting, for she sniffed haughtily.

 

“It is hospital policy, Mr…”

 

“Snape,” he told her, a menacing gleam in his eye, “Severus Snape.”

 

 _That_ got a reaction.

 

The Healer flinched slightly and her eyes flickered to his left arm before she recomposed herself and returned to her self-important manner. “Well, Mr Snape, I am afraid we make no exceptions to this particular policy,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “And as the senior Healer here today, I must enforce this policy and ask you not to harass our staff or I shall need to ask you to leave.”

 

She was a tall woman, with an average build, and dark blonde hair that was flecked with grey, which she wore it in a tight bun. She held herself with the arrogance of someone with moderate talent who had risen to the middle management tier of her field through an overestimation of her own abilities and would rise no higher. The stick up her bum must be helping her balance the chips on her shoulders, Severus thought. He’d be unsurprised if her surname was ‘Ratched’.

 

“And _your_ name, madam?” Severus asked coldly. His only interest was in which bungling and arrogant Healer was in charge of Harry’s care today. Granger had told him that Healer Strout, the actual head of the Janus Thickey Ward, had been the most helpful and capable of the lot so far, though a little skittish at times. Granger felt that most of them were extremely competent in the art of healing physical problems and curses but they lacked in their ability to treat problems of the mind.

 

Harry didn’t like any of them as far as Granger was aware, but then he didn’t really express much of an opinion these days as far as she could see.

 

The Healer sniffed again and replied, “Healer Lackart is my name, _Mr_ Snape.”

 

Severus narrowed his eyes, getting ready to fire off a tirade, but before he could say anything Granger’s hand came to rest on the back of his elbow. “There won’t be any need to ask us to leave, Healer Lackart,” she said in a conciliatory tone, “ _Will_ there, Professor? We just want to see Harry.”

 

She looked him the eyes and pursed her lips. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. Her nerves were jangling and he was raring for a good argument to soothe them. But Granger was right – getting the Healer riled up would only serve to prevent him seeing Harry. And he desperately wanted to see Harry.

 

Reluctantly, he handed his wand to the shaking receptionist who quickly labelled it and handed him a number card. “You can pick up your wand afterwards, sir,” she said, apparently bolstered by the support of Healer Lackart.

 

“ _Can_ I?” he said as he snatched the ticket from her hand. She quailed satisfyingly in response.

 

He turned back to Healer Lackart who pursed her lips and she straightened up. “Follow me, Mr Snape, Mrs Weasley.”

 

“ _Ms Granger_ ,” the younger woman muttered pointedly under her breath, glaring at the Healer’s back, and Severus was pleased to note that she didn’t seem to like Healer Lockart anymore than he did.

 

Granger had given him a brief summary of what had been happening in the month Harry had spent as an inpatient – the investigations proposed and rejected by Harry; the treatments suggested and ignored by Harry; the attempts of Harry to get himself out that were dismissed by the Healers; the resignation Harry now carried with him daily.

 

It all added up to make Severus very frustrated and extremely apprehensive about what state he would find Harry in. Granger had told him that she didn’t blame Harry for ignoring a lot of what the Healers said, as she too thought most of it was codswallop. In her opinion, a Muggle psychiatrist was probably what they needed but Harry didn’t want to be a burden or put anyone at risk. He’d also argued he’d be unable to tell a Muggle doctor very much about his life at all.

 

Lackart stopped and performed a set of complicated (and probably exaggerated, Severus thought) wand movements at the door leading to the secure wing. A series of locks clicked and whirred as they opened and they were ushered through the door into another long, bland, magnolia-coloured corridor.

 

Severus surveyed the hallway as the locks whirred back into place, securing the wing once more. It was lined on either side with plain white doors, solid apart from a small observation window. Each door’s window was set at different heights, which was puzzling until Severus saw a very short wizard drag the letterbox shaped and sized window down to his eye level with his wand. The wizard looked into the room, made a note on a chart he was carrying, and moved on to the next door.

 

Healer Lackart must have noticed his observations as she said, “We tend to find that over-stimulating the patients in this ward is rather counterproductive to their healing. As well as small windows, each room is soundproofed to the outside unless we choose otherwise, though we can still hear what happens inside.”

 

Severus frowned and his gut twisted horribly. “Are these patients prisoners, Healer Lackart?” he asked, trying desperately to stay calm, “Have they committed a crime?”

 

Lackart seemed taken aback at the question. “No, Mr Snape,” she replied, looking gallingly nonplussed and speaking as to him as though he were an especially dim-witted pupil, “They would be in Azkaban if that were the case.”

 

A tidal wave of fury and horror rose up within Severus and he clenched his jaw tightly. His fingernails dug painfully into his palms as he clenched his fists and his magic bubbled dangerously close to the surface of his control.

 

“So why are they treated as such?” he ground out, “These patients are here to be healed. Not incarcerated in some kind of Muggle Victorian asylum.”

 

Behind him, he felt Granger tense and he had half a mind to turn his wrath on her as well. Why had she not done more to try to remove Harry from this appalling environment? Surely, as a Muggleborn, she knew this was not how patients with mental health problems should be treated? Why were these conditions not more commonly known in the Wizarding world? Was their society so blind to the plight and discrimination of people with mental health problems?

 

His anger at Granger was short lived as he reminded himself that he had been oblivious to or absent for most of Harry’s difficulties. It was like throwing a bucket of water on the fire of his rage. He realised that Granger and Weasley had likely tried exceptionally hard to take Harry from the ward and remembered that Granger had said it was Harry who blocked any attempt to have him discharged after the first few days. A flare of annoyance towards Harry built but died just as quickly as it had grown.

 

Healer Lackart was blustering at the accusation and puffing herself up like an angry bird. Severus ignored her and, instead, demanded that they be taken to Harry’s room.

 

She huffed but did as he requested and the three of them walked to a room with the number ‘VII’ declared in brass numbers above the door. She moved the small observation window up but only so far, meaning that Severus had to stoop slightly to look through. He seethed at the indignity initially but forgot all about it when he looked through.

 

The room was tiny and windowless. To describe it as Spartan would be generous. A small cot-like bed sat on the far side, the length taking up the entire far wall, and Severus noted that there was no bedding to speak of. Lying on the bed, facing away from the door, he saw Harry’s scrunched up form, recognisable from the shock of black, messy hair.

 

Severus stood back quickly and closed his eyes, unable to look anymore. It was a cell. It was heart breaking just to see. A small hand touched his shoulder and he looked around to see Granger watching him forlornly.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

 

He said nothing but put his right hand over the one on his shoulder. He turned to Healer Lackart and scowled. “What, exactly, are the criteria for a patient to be admitted here?” Severus asked, trying to keep his voice even.

 

“The patients we attend to here are those who pose a threat of harm to themselves or to the general community,”Lackart said, “Only the most adept Healers are permitted to look after them.”

 

She sounded disgustingly proud.

 

Severus managed to still his tongue before he could refute such a claim.

 

“I should like to visit with him,” he said instead, “Let me speak with him.”

 

The Healer looked smug as she replied that only _authorised_ persons could be admitted to the rooms of Secure Wing patients.

 

“I Firecalled ahead,” Granger said, defiant in her tone and demeanour, “Harry had asked Ron and I to be in charge of authorising visits and decisions on his behalf if we felt them appropriate. We’re his next of kin. I signed the paperwork for the Professor to be authorised for entry when we arrived.”

 

Severus was unduly proud of her in that moment and was reminded of how capable she could be. He graced her with a small, brief smile of thanks and she flushed happily. They could be allies at least against the common enemy of Healer Lackart.

 

Lackart’s face took on the appearance of someone who had just sucked half a lemon to dryness. “Well then,” she grumbled, “If you’re ready, Mr Snape, please step back so that I may open the door. I’m afraid only one person is allowed into the room at a time. I shall, of course, be watching through the observation window.”

 

Severus stepped back and the Healer muttered several different charms under her breath and the door opened a crack. Severus stepped forward and into the room.

 

He took in the small containment cell in more detail, with nothing but contempt, as he entered it. The walls were a bare, clinical white; the floor the same shade but in tile rather than paint. A disturbing pinkish patch, surrounding a cracked tile caught his attention in the middle of the floor.

 

Harry didn’t move as he entered; in fact, he looked even more still than before. The mattress was bare under his pyjama-clad form and Severus was grateful that Granger or the Weasleys had thought to provide him with his own set of nightwear at least.

 

The floor held an oddly cushioned sensation under his feet, nothing at all like the tile he had been subconsciously anticipating. The effect was both to deaden the sound of his shoes and to deeply unsettle him.

 

Severus moved toward the bed and heard the door shut behind him. He stood, uncertain of what to say, and wished he still had his wand so that he could conjure a chair.

 

“What now?” Harry’s voice croaked from the bed, not turning around. He sounded as though he hadn’t spoken in some time. “It’s not time for medication yet and I don’t want it anyway.”

 

“Perhaps we could talk about that?” Severus replied.

 

The effect was almost instantaneous. Harry sat up and turned towards him with a speed that rivalled his performance on the Quidditch pitch. He stared at Severus, fear and shock alive in his emerald eyes.

 

Severus felt his own shock hit him like he’d ploughed into the Quidditch field himself. Harry’s face was pale but a large bruise that was a livid mixture of fading purple, blue, and yellow stood out on the right side of his forehead over a large graze. A small amount of stubble peppered his stark jawline. His collarbones were visible at the neck of his t-shirt and his arms were thin and scratched. At the left side of his neck was a fresh-looking ragged scar. He looked like he’d been beaten and starved. What on earth was going on?

 

“You’re not real,” Harry said quietly and then very quickly, panicked and afraid, “No, no, I thought this had stopped. It’s not happened for a month. But… but you can’t be…”

 

“I am real, Harry,” Severus assured him, moving forward quickly. Harry flinched back and he stopped. “I am real,” he repeated.

 

“But…”

 

Severus sat on the cot beside Harry and reached out to take Harry’s hand. “I am real.”

 

A mixed look of shock, relief, and confusion passed over Harry’s face. “Why are you here? I thought…”

 

“I have come to see you,” Severus replied, simply, still holding Harry’s oddly cool fingers in his own. Harry was supposed to be warm. He glanced at Harry’s hands and found each thin wrist encased in a glowing silver band. He’d never seen such things before and wondered what they could be. Before he could ask, Harry spoke.

 

“But… why?” Harry asked, looking confused and weary, “You told me not to contact you again. I… I don’t understand.”

 

Severus sighed, “I made a mistake.”

 

The small cell was silent for a few seconds before the entirely unexpected noise of Harry snorting with laughter made Severus jump. He stared at Harry, who was now laughing freely, a slightly hysterical quality to it. Severus wondered for a second if being in this hellhole had actually driven Harry mad but then Harry spoke again, still giggling slightly.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, calming down a little, “I just… never thought I’d hear you say that. And to hear it now… well, I’ve not had a laugh in a while.”

 

Severus had to smile as well and he admitted, “I am not one to admit my errors all that often.”

 

He watched Harry’s face for a few moments as he settled. “I thought you would be angry with me,” he confessed. A flicker of emotion passed over Harry’s face at this.

 

“I was,” Harry whispered, “at first. For about an hour. I destroyed my flat, you know? Then I was just sad. And hurt. And I missed you. But… I didn’t want to be angry with you. Takes too much energy to be angry. Besides, someone seems to have been angry enough for the both of us.”

 

Harry had removed his hand from Severus’ and he ghosted it over the new bruise on Severus’ jaw and then he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. The movement reminded Severus of the silver bands.

 

“What are these?” Severus asked, taking both of Harry’s wrists in his hands. Harry pulled them back swiftly and rubbed one of the bands with left hand. He didn’t look up as he replied.

 

“Magic binders,” he said quietly, “Stop my wandless magic.”

 

Cold fury built within Severus again. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Harry looked up at him with frightened eyes and repeated, “They stop me performing wandless magic apparently – experimental I was told. I can’t control it properly anymore. That’s why I’m in this ward in the first place. I’m dangerous. They think I’m mental too.”

 

Severus was silent and stony-faced as he absorbed this information. Granger hadn’t mentioned the binding of Harry’s magic. Then he realised what Harry had said.

 

“You’re not ‘mental’,” he said sharply, “You’re depressed.”

 

“It’s mental when you see dead people who aren’t ghosts, Severus,” Harry replied belligerently. He sounded like he was defending being called crazy!

 

“I cannot believe you are trying to convince me that you are insane!” Severus shouted and stood up, losing control of his temper.

 

“I’m dangerous!”

 

“You are not! I refuse to accept that!”

 

“Well leave me alone, then!” Harry yelled with his fists clenched. The silver bands buzzed and flared. For a second Severus thought they might break apart but they stopped as Harry closed his eyes and controlled his breathing.

 

“Mr Snape,” Healer Lackart’s voice echoed through the small room, “Is everything okay?”

 

Severus looked over to the door and saw Lackart’s eyes at the window. He resisted the urge to make a rude gesture and simply nodded in reply.

 

He stared at Harry who had put his face in his hands and was shaking slightly. The block on his wandless magic seemed to be fragile, or at least not used to withstanding Harry’s level of power, which seemed to frighten Harry a lot.

 

Slowly, Severus moved to sit back down on the bed and pulled Harry towards him, wrapping his arm around the thin shoulders.

 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Severus,” Harry said tiredly after a few minutes and pulled back, “But I’m not in control. I just wanted it all to be over – I never expected to be told I was dangerous.”

 

Severus watched Harry curl up into himself on the bed.

 

The visit was not going as Severus had thought it would at all. He’d expected to be thrown out on his ear if he was being honest with himself. But Harry was being fairly open with him. Severus wondered if he could press this further to get Harry to tell more and maybe convince him to accept the help.

 

“I know you tried to commit suicide,” Severus said carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure how Harry would respond to being reminded of his attempt to end his own life. The signs pointed towards him still wishing to do so.

 

“Mmm,” Harry hummed. His green eyes flicked to the cracked tile Severus had noticed earlier.

 

Seeing that he would get no other response, Severus moved closer to Harry; he reached out a hand and gently caressed the bruise on the young man’s forehead with his thumb. “What happened?” he asked simply, voice quiet and calmer than he felt.

 

Harry leaned into the hand and winced slightly as Severus’ thumb grazed the cut. “Tried it again,” said Harry sadly, “Banged my head on the tile after they took away the bed sheets so I couldn’t hang myself. Wondered if I could knock my head until I bled out or until the tile broke off and I could use that. That’s when they charmed the floor to make it spongy. ‘Bout a week ago.”

 

Harry spoke about his suicide attempts so frankly it was dreadfully unnerving.

 

“Why haven’t they healed it?” Severus asked.

 

“I won’t let them.”

 

Anger sparked within Severus again. “Harry-“ he started but was interrupted.

 

“I just didn’t see the point, Severus,” Harry said wearily, “I’m stuck in here and have nothing but time to pass so why speed up the healing? It’s distracting to have something physical to concentrate on.”

 

“Is that why you are starving yourself, too?” Severus asked pointedly.

 

Harry avoided his gaze in favour of the bare mattress. “Not hungry. And the food they try to give me is terrible. They won’t let me have a fork or a knife so it has to either be liquid or really soft, ” he made a face that adequately portrayed his level of disgust and then added, “They’re definitely drugging it too.”

 

Severus couldn’t say he was surprised at the concept of them drugging Harry’s food if he refused to take the potions they wanted him to. They probably liked their patients sedated enough not to argue back or make a fuss. Though Harry only seemed to do the former about the potions they were trying to use on him.

 

They lapsed into silence again.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about your previous depression or that you were struggling?” Severus asked softly. It hurt to think Harry had been fighting his depression when they were together and Severus had not noticed.

 

“I tried,” Harry said shortly. Severus could hear the tinge of anger and frustration in his voice.

 

Severus frowned and thought back over their time together, unable to think when Harry had tried to talk to him about his past at all. The day he had broken their association off finally floated across his mind and he recalled how nervous Harry had seemed, how he had rambled about some Spanish dish or something. He closed his eyes in dreadful comprehension.

 

“The day I left,” he said, quietly and opened his eyes to look at Harry.

 

Harry nodded despondently. “At school, you told me once that people who wore their emptions on their sleeves were weak. I thought you’d believe I was pathetic if you knew. I was glad I hadn’t told you after you left,” he said and continued when Severus looked at him, “I wouldn’t have wished for you to stay with me out of pity. And I couldn’t help but feel you’d be able to use it against me if you truly felt nothing for me and believed I was weak.”

 

Severus scowled in annoyance at the implication.

 

“You gave me no real indication that you felt anything for me, Severus,” Harry said defensively on seeing his expression, “Especially when you called what we had an ‘arrangement’ and not a relationship. I thought I’d just stopped being convenient.”

 

Shame swept over him again and Severus was the one to avoid Harry’s gaze now.

 

What could he say to that?

 

*******

 

Harry took a moment to watch Severus in the silence. The slump of his shoulders belied their leanness and the older man had dark bags under his eyes that rivalled those on Harry’s own face. He didn’t appear to have had a very good few months at all.

 

Harry searched for something to say and the only thing he could think was to tell Severus what he’d wanted to tell him that night two and a half months ago.

 

“I never really told you about my childhood,” he said. Severus frowned at him, clearly baffled by the apparent deviation. Harry gave him a sad smile and continued, “I sort of assumed you knew. I thought all the teachers knew.

 

“In my Fifth Year,” he started but faltered. He took a breath and clenched his fists, “In my Fifth year, during the Occlumency lessons, I saw a glimpse of your childhood. I know it wasn’t happy.”

 

Severus snorted and Harry gave him a small smile of understanding, “Yeah, understatement, I know.”

 

He swallowed and Severus reached over to take his hand, encouraging him to continue. This would be hard for both of them, Harry thought – rehashing their pasts together and apart.

 

“I don’t think you saw my cupboard but I can’t remember,” Harry said with a frown.

 

“ _Your_ cupboard?” Severus asked.

 

Harry nodded. “I, um, I lived there from when I moved to the Dursleys’ until just before I came to Hogwarts.”

 

“You… lived in a cupboard? For ten years?” Severus struggled to control his features into a neutral expression.

 

“Yeah. I did,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

 

“You talk about it like you would the weather or the post,” Severus commented, astonished and horrified.

 

Harry shrugged, “It was sort of normal for me until I met the Weasleys. They were poor but they were loving and supportive. If the kids did something wrong, Mr and Mrs Weasley dealt with it but Ron and his siblings knew they were loved. My relatives locked me in a cupboard and denied me meals and kept moving the goal post when it came to punishments.

 

“I only ever wore my cousin’s hand-me-downs, even though the Dursleys had plenty of money; they let Dudley bully me and I had no friends because all the other kids were scared of Dudley and thought I was a freak. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia only hit me a few times, not so often it mattered really.”

 

Harry looked sideways at Severus, who sat, stock still, looking appalled and distraught in equal measure. Harry averted his eyes.

 

“Harry,” Severus croaked.

 

“Please,” Harry said quickly, “Please just let me finish?”

 

Severus swallowed and pressed his lips into a thin line, but he nodded.

 

Harry drew in a shuddering breath before speaking again. “I tried not to let it all bother me. The neglect was standard – normal. It made me mad sometimes but mostly the problems came after the war. After Hogwarts.

 

“My whole life was geared to one purpose – to kill Voldemort and apparently to die doing so. Which I did, I suppose. Once that was done everything seemed a little anti-climactic after I came back to life.”

 

A small, self-deprecating smile had settled over Harry’s face. “At the time, I told myself, _made_ myself believe, so much that I wanted to be an Auror; to get married; to give Molly more grandchildren. I thought I could make it work with Ginny, I did. But when it came down to it I wasn’t happy and I wasn’t true to myself.

 

“The end of trials just brought this emptiness. Vast swathes of time just laid open before me. I had no goal, no drive. It was scary; everything I’d thought I wanted to live for just seemed to mean nothing at all. And it seemed everyone else was coping all right. I know I’m not alone in having problems after the war but mostly people had plans, things to do. I had a big blank space in my To Do list just after ‘return from the dead’.”

 

Harry sighed and gave Severus a weary, despondently resigned look. “Somewhere along the way, not being afraid to die turned into a wish for it. It was an ache, Severus. It sat right here,” he placed his hand over his sternum, “and gnawed and swelled and I just…”

 

Harry trailed off and stared into the middle distance, his eyes sparkling with a glaze of unshed tears that blurred his vision.   Severus was reaching out and trying to reawaken Harry to the world when the younger man looked him straight in the eyes and continued. His voice was thick and strained through the whisper.

 

“It consumed me and I wanted it. I wanted to stop being a burden. I wanted the pain of living to end. I wanted the darkness; the peace,” he paused and swallowed, “I was meant to die, Severus. On the 2nd of May 1998, I died and I think I was meant to stay dead. I brought and continue to bring grief and trouble and danger to those around me. Good and innocent people died and I… came back. Why was I alive when they didn’t get to be?”

 

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. His jaw was set in a hard, resolved line. “I still see their faces from that night. And the ones I hunted down after, even if I didn’t mean to kill anyone. And Teddy’s lost his parents and George doesn’t get mistaken for Fred anymore and hundreds of people have to exist without huge chunks of their lives.

 

”I hate myself so much for being alive.”

 

*******

 

Harry said this last part was said so quietly, Severus struggled to hear it. He remained silent, his mind turning over in a whirlwind of thought and emotions. How could he have missed this? He had grown to love this man more than he thought possible and yet he had not known this part of him. Surely there were signs during their time together?

 

Of course there were signs, he realised. The ‘early rises’ were truly sleepless nights. The angry outbursts over the concern shown by friends were clear now. That second night they’d been together… Harry had been a mess when Severus had arrived. His fridge had often been nearly empty on the occasions he’d been over to the flat.  Harry had cut himself off from the world after the Battle Memorial. These were not signs of someone happy within themselves. How could he have blinded himself to all of this?

 

He had been feeing and thinking such similar things to his young lover just after the war but Harry seemed to have absorbed them into his very core and carried them with him to now.

 

And that Harry could be so blasé about his childhood abuse was more worrisome than heartening to Severus. It was likely he hadn’t dealt with his feelings from that time. It explained a lot of his reckless actions during his formative years at Hogwarts. The young Harry had been exercising his freedom and his lack of self-concern. Severus already knew enough from the brief months they had spent in a relationship to know that Harry did not enjoy, in the slightest, the attention his fame had brought him. It did not escape him that he’d been blind to this fact as well for most of their association.

 

Severus realised he didn’t really know Harry at all. He hadn’t allowed himself to know the younger man. Yet he knew he loved him. He loved this strong, vulnerable, courageous, flawed man who was baring his soul to him at last.

 

“And now, here I am,” Harry snorted disparagingly at himself and lifted his wrists, the glowing cuffs encircling the thin bones appeared to light up a little brighter with the movement. “Magic bound and locked away. Everyone’s afraid I’m the next Dark Lord, you know.”

 

Severus had suspected but he didn’t say so.

 

“I think this was coming for a while. It _definitely_ wasn’t just you leaving. I’d been seeing things and I was angry and I kept having nightmares and flashbacks.”

 

Harry had looked away again and Severus could hear the strain in his choked voice. He could imagine the unshed tears. Harry never seemed to cry.

 

“There was a time I really hated you, you know? I thought I would never, ever forgive you – for Sirius, for Dumbledore, for the prophecy. But when you gave me the memories, I saw you were scared and regretful – like me — and so brave,” Harry whispered, “Then we were together and I was really happy with you. I forgave you long before we were ever together, though. I’m sorry it’s all fucked up. It’s probably for the best you that you don’t have to put up with me now.”

 

Severus stared at Harry in astonishment. The small room was silent for an indeterminable amount of time as he gathered his thoughts and emotions.

 

“Harry,” Severus stated eventually with a commanding certainty, “you must be the most forgiving individual I have ever met. Yet you are a fool.”

 

Harry’s head snapped around and he gawped at Severus who looked him straight in the eye as he spoke.

 

“But I am also a fool. I was a coward. I was so afraid of being hurt or of being judged that I ignored your suffering and I hurt you deeply. I thought you would leave me if I became attached. I didn’t believe I could keep you,” Severus continued, “I think you were going to tell me you loved me before I left.”

 

Severus thought it wouldn’t have been possible but Harry paled even further and clenched his jaw. He reached over to take Harry’s hand again.

 

“It took me some time but I know now that I love you,” he told Harry softly but surely, “You may not feel the same anymore and I shall respect that if it is the case

 

“But,” he proceeded, “If there is the slightest chance that you will give this foolish old man a chance to make it up to you, then I will spend my days doing so. In any capacity you will allow me.”

 

Harry appeared to have forgotten to breathe as he listened. In fact, he looked frozen in time, staring at Severus with an unnameable expression on his face. He looked fraught and hopeful at the same time.

 

When he remembered to breathe and move, he let out a shuddering breath and blinked furiously.

 

“Severus,” he sighed and grasped Severus’ other hand with his own, “Oh, Severus… I- I’ve wanted to hear that so much it’s difficult to imagine this is actually real.”

 

He swallowed hard and continued, “I’d wondered for a while if any of what we had was real of if I’d made it up! Of course, I still love you. But… there’s so much we’d have to work through, not even counting the fact I’m in here.” He gestured to the room. Severus, whose heart had leapt initially, followed Harry’s gaze to the door where Healer Lackart’s beady eyes were trained on the both. “There’s trust issues and my head’s not really screwed on right at the moment,” Harry persisted, “It would change your entire life and mine is practically over at this point anyway. I’m too dangerous to be around people. I’m not worth the trouble.”

 

Harry began to pull his hands away but Severus wouldn’t let him. He pulled the smaller hands and arms towards him, forcing Harry to face him dead on.

 

“You will listen to me for once in your life, Harry Potter,” Severus hissed in a low, dark voice that made Harry shiver. “I am not willing to let go of all that could be between us for something as paltry as other people’s perception of danger or their fear. If I say you are worthwhile to me then you are. We will work through it and we will find a way. It will not be easy and I cannot give you perfection. We will disagree and we will argue but I will love you. I do love you.”

 

Harry closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Severus’. The older man closed his eyes and whispered, “I will not let you waste away in here. Even if we can never be together as we were, I promise I will keep you safe.”

 

Harry pulled back and Severus opened his eyes again as Harry raised a hand to cup Severus’ face. He traced a thumb over Severus’ lower lip and gave him a small, fond smile.

 

“It will take time,” he said, “But I’m not sure I have anything else to give you at the moment. Apart from loving you.”

 

Severus reached up and took Harry’s hand in his own and raised it to his lips, kissing the cool, smooth knuckles reverently. When he spoke it was soft and low and warm, as he looked Harry in the eyes.

 

“That is more than enough.”

 


	17. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'After promising Harry that he would return and promising himself he would find a way to get Harry out of the tender ‘care’ of the St. Mungo’s Healers, Severus left the small room and returned to the corridor.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> I can't fully express my gratitude and happiness for the wonderful comments and the kudos! Hope you enjoy the next bit!
> 
> C.O.

After promising Harry that he would return and promising himself he would find a way to get Harry out of the tender ‘care’ of the St. Mungo’s Healers, Severus left the small room and returned to the corridor.

 

Healer Lackart had opened the door for him and Granger stepped forward, eager to hear what had happened. Severus ignored her and turned to Lackart who had just finished re-locking the door to Harry’s room.

 

“We must discuss Harry’s discharge arrangements,” he told her. He took immense, malicious joy in the flabbergasted expression she took on and the flustered gasping that followed.

 

“Discharge?!” Lackart and Granger both cried out together.

 

“Professor-“ Granger started briefly but was cut off by the indignant shriek of the Healer.

 

“Out of the question!” Lackart exclaimed, looking horrified, “Mr Potter is in a very fragile stage of his treatment and-“

 

“With all due respect, Healer Lackart - by which I mean I have none - as far as I can tell Harry is not receiving any treatment whatsoever,” Severus interrupted, his outward calmness belying the roiling fury beneath the surface, “Unless you consider castrating him of his magic and drugging his food so that he starves himself to be treatment.”

 

“’Castrating’ is a strong word-“ the Healer began to say.

 

“Drugging his food?” Granger whispered. He turned, briefly, to look at her and saw her disbelief turn into her own brand of rage. “You’re putting potions in his food?” she demanded of the Healer.

 

“It… it was the only way to get him to take anything,” Lackart defended herself weakly, “He’s a danger to himself and others.”

 

“Ron and I are in charge of Harry’s care where he can’t make decisions for himself,” Granger informed the other woman. She sounded dangerous and Severus could see her mind working furiously behind her bright, serious eyes. Her voice grew steadily in volume and pitch, “You and your team are supposed run anything like covert medication or potential treatment plans past us if Harry refuses. We’d _never_ have signed this off!”

 

“Any trouble, Leto?” the small wizard from earlier asked from behind Lackart, who was now white as the walls in Harry’s room.

 

“No, everything is fine, Algernon,” Lackart choked out, “Just fine.”

 

Severus had the sudden suspicion that perhaps Lackart had been taking matters into her own hands when it came to Harry’s treatment. It would be almost impossible to prove but it strengthened his resolve to remove Harry from St. Mungo’s as soon as possible.

 

That very day – the very _hour_ – would be ideal.

 

The small wizard looked sceptical but nodded and returned to his duties. Granger still seethed beside Severus and she was glaring daggers at the Healer. Severus imagined that of she’d had her wand Granger would have had no problem with performing some horrific hexes upon the other witch.

 

“Well, Healer Lackart, I believe a discourse is in order,” Severus stated, feeling ever more confident that he and Granger would have the upper hand, “Follow me.”

 

With that, he turned and swept down the corridor, as much was possible in his Muggle clothing. He liked to think that the silence of the previously pompous and strident Healer who trailed behind him meant that the effect was still as impressive as if he’d been wearing his teaching robes.

 

A gratified smirk spread slowly over his face. This was going to be fun.

 

*******

 

It was an hour later that Severus and Granger emerged from Lackart’s office, triumphant in their task. They were followed by a peeved-looking but defeated Healer Leto Lackart.

 

As they made their way back to the secure wing, keen to tell Harry of their plan and set it into action immediately, Severus rounded to corner and saw Molly and Arthur Weasley who were also arguing with the jumpy receptionist who looked like she might burst into tears if Molly kept on at her.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know when the Healer will be back?” Molly was demanding, “Surely she can’t leave a whole wing of patients unattended for an unspecified length of time?”

 

“She- she was in a m-meeting, Mrs Weasley,” Weatherby stuttered, “She- she’ll be back soon but she didn’t say.”

 

“That’s not good enough!” Molly screeched.

 

“Molly, dear…” Arthur put a hand on her shoulder, “This girl’s just doing her job. I’m sure-“

 

“But what if he needs something, Arthur?” Molly asked her husband desperately, “It’s no so long ago they had to stop him again. He’s so fragile at the moment.”

 

“Molly, I wouldn’t let _him_ hear you say that. He-”

 

“He needs a mother’s love and if only he’d let us look after him-“

 

Severus coughed loudly to draw their attention. It sounded like an argument that had been rehashed many times over and Severus wasn’t all that interested in hearing it to completion. Not when he had Harry to collect.

 

The two Weasleys turned to him simultaneously. Arthur blinked at him mutely from behind his glasses, clearly unable to reconcile Severus being there at all.

 

Molly, however, had no such problem.

 

“YOU!” she shrieked at him and started to advance. Severus was reminded terrifyingly of her son’s actions the evening before.

 

“I’m guessing they know about Harry and myself?” he asked Granger who didn’t have a chance to reply before Molly accosted him. Her wand poked up into his chin and, as he’d not yet had a chance to collect his own wand, he was – he felt – rightfully intimidated. Even if Molly Weasley was just over half his height, he knew she could wield a nasty curse or two, and right now she was acting like an enraged mother lion defending her cub.

 

“What are you doing here, you… you despicable, heartless-“

 

“Molly,” Granger tried to stop her.

 

“Devious, wretched, evil-“

 

“MOLLY!” Granger shouted as Arthur plucked the wand from his wife’s hand.

 

“WHAT?” Molly cried back before realising who she was shouting at. “Hermione, dear? What are you doing here?” She glanced back and forth between Severus and the girl, “With _him_?”

 

“Ms Granger was kind enough to bring me here to see Harry so that we could arrange his discharge,” Severus said, composing himself as his heart rate slowed down now that the wand was no longer pointed at his jugular.

 

“Discharge?” Molly exclaimed, “He’s… he’s not well enough to be discharged! And where exactly is he to be discharged to?”

 

“To my home,” Severus stated calmly, though he stepped back slightly to increase the distance between them.

 

Before Molly could open her mouth to shriek in indignation, Arthur had placed his hands on her shoulders and asked quietly, “And Harry has agreed to this?”

 

Severus and Granger exchanged slightly nervous glances. Harry had been ultimately reluctant to expose others to his uncontrolled magic but Granger had suggested he might agree to go with Severus if he could keep the Magic Binding bracelets. Severus had been keen for Harry to develop a healthy control on his magic as his mental health improved, rather than rely on external aids, but Granger had emphasised just how scared Harry was of hurting people and he would not agree to live with Severus if he knew the chances of harming him were negligible.

 

“He’s open to it,” Granger said eventually.

 

Arthur frowned but was distracted by a fussing Molly. “And what are your thoughts, Healer Lackart?” she asked the other woman, “You cannot possibly be agreeing to discharge him when he’s been getting worse instead of better!”

 

“Mr Snape has been very persuasive in his arguments,” the Healer muttered, avoiding eye contact with any of them. Severus had been right about her taking the initiative to drug Harry’s food without discussion with the other Healers. She had been all but forced to agree to Severus’ plans if she wanted to keep her position. “We will, of course, have to inform the Ministry of Mr Potter’s release should he agree to the stipulations. It would be irresponsible of us to let someone with uncontrolled magic into the community, even if he is wearing experimental Magic Binders.”

 

“Yes, “ Severus intoned, irritated and tired of Lackart’s repeated nay-saying, “You had mentioned. I believe we went over this when we stipulated a confidentiality clause to the discussion with the Ministry.”

 

Lackart was stubbornly silent.

 

Molly was stumped. She opened and closed her mouth several times before deciding she didn’t have anything to say.

 

“We assume you and Harry have reconciled,” Arthur said seriously, looking Severus in the eye.

 

He’d been one of the most supportive members of the Order with regards to Severus and Severus had suspected that Arthur would be the easiest of the pair to win over when he and Harry had gone public. However, Severus was now reminded that Arthur Weasley, for all his mild-mannered charm and apparent absentmindedness, was a Gryffindor through and through. He would stop at nothing to protect his family and Severus could tell that Harry was considered kin to the Weasleys.    

 

Severus gave a small nod, agreeing to Arthur’s statement and also acknowledging the other man’s tacit concern for Harry. “We have agreed to work on a relationship. Even if it will take time and effort,” Severus told them all.

 

“What relationship doesn’t?” Arthur asked, a small, warm smile playing on his lips.

 

“Indeed,” Severus agreed.

 

Granger sighed dreamily beside him, looking pleased as punch as though she’d just orchestrated the most successful romantic scheme in the world. She shook herself slightly and clapped her hands making them all jump. Healer Lackart was watching the scene with undisguised impatience.

 

“Right, well, we’d better go and get Harry ready then,” Granger said and looked expectantly at the Healer, “Don’t you agree?”

 

Granger hadn’t given Lackart much choice from her tone and the Healer proceeded to lead Severus and Hermione back towards the secure wing as Arthur soothed an apprehensive Molly.

 

Severus couldn’t wait to get Harry home and get away from all this demonstrative Gryffindor folly.

 

*******

 

Harry tried to resist the urge to pull his knees up to his chest as he sat on the settee in Severus’ living room. He could hardly believe the events of the day so far and it was just after lunchtime.

 

When he’d woken from the now nightly dream of running through a forest, he’d been filled with the same, dismal hopelessness that he’d felt since he’d been admitted to St. Mungo’s. His only reprieves from the feeling had been the anger towards his Healers and the fear of hurting others that kept him prisoner in the ward and his own mind.

 

Then Severus had come and, after he’d realised he wasn’t hallucinating again, a seedling of hope had broken through the surface of his desolate heart. It was budding within his chest, fighting against the gnawing ache of depression even now.

 

Mr and Mrs Weasley and Hermione had been at the hospital as well when Severus had led him out into St Mungo’s Floo depot. Hermione had hugged him so tightly he’d had to tap her on the shoulder to remind her he needed to breathe. Just as he’d sucked in much needed oxygen, Molly Weasley had wrapped him in her arms and cried into his shoulder. It was the first time they’d seen him out of that tiny, sterile room in weeks.

 

Through the enchanted windows he had seen Muggles passing by, completely oblivious to the world beyond the glass – the world full of magic and wonder and danger and death.

 

It all seemed so surreal.

 

Until he looked at his wrists, where the silver bands of the Magic Binders glowed and pulsed. It had been his principal prerequisite prior to being discharged, that he got to keep the bracelets on until he felt more able to control his magic. Hermione had been the one to suggest it and Harry latched on to the idea. He hadn’t thought he’d be allowed to take the bands home with him. It wouldn’t have changed his mind about staying with Ron and Hermione – he couldn’t risk putting Rose at any chance of harm.

 

The Binders did, however, act as a stark reminder of his failings and also how much he missed his magic. Having lived for over a decade in the Wizarding world, he’d gotten used to casual magic and, in the last few years, wandless magic was almost second nature to him. To have lost control and then be stripped of it was like having a limb amputated. He could still feel it itch within him like a phantom limb and, every so often, the bands would vibrate as though his magic was trying desperately to escape.

 

Doubtless, Hermione would be very keen to study these feelings and concepts as soon as she thought Harry was well enough to talk about it without fear of causing him to relapse. Harry would have laughed at her antics had he not been so reluctant to examine his feelings so minutely.

 

Harry and Severus had Flooed to Severus’ cottage, which Harry had never seen before, after promising the Weasleys (though it was Molly primarily) that they’d be over for dinner soon. Harry was stupefied to see Mrs Weasley hug Severus, who looked as though he’d rather be embracing a Manticore than Molly Weasley. He did note, however, that the older witch had given Severus a stern look and had taken him aside before they left. Severus had returned looking a mite paler than usual, which was really saying something.

 

When they’d arrived, Harry wearing his pyjamas and Severus carrying the small collection of items Harry had at the hospital, Harry had been set firmly on the sofa as Severus set to readying some tea and organising the rest of the house.

 

So, Harry sat looking around the surprisingly comfortable living room and feeling rather nervous about the whole situation. He’d heard the kettle reach the boil some time ago but was afraid to venture into the kitchen without Severus’ say so. Everything was so uncertain in Harry’s head as to where they stood with each other and he didn’t want to upset the other man by disrupting some kind of routine.

 

Eventually, Severus returned to the living room to find Harry chewing on his already shredded fingernails and bouncing his leg to release some energy.

 

“You do not need to be nervous,” Severus said softy, though he stayed standing. He was stiff and avoided Harry’s gaze. Harry laughed at the hypocrisy but continued to bounce his leg.

 

“Difficult to stop being anxious, really,” he said, giving a half smile to the older man, “Might help if you sat down?”

 

Severus hesitated for a second but then sat on the sofa, almost as far from Harry as he could get. Harry tried not to feel hurt. Why had Severus asked him to stay if he was so afraid of him? He so badly wanted to curl into himself but didn’t want to put his feet on the sofa if Severus would be angry.

 

“You are rocking,” Severus’ voice startled him out of his thoughts and he stilled.

 

Severus was watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“Sorry, didn’t realise,” Harry said quickly. He went back to biting his nails.

 

He was stopped by Severus, whose hand came up to grasp his own, though he hadn’t moved any closer.

 

“You will make yourself bleed if you continue in that endeavour,” Severus told him as he held the abused fingers between both of his hands.

 

“You won’t catch anything if you sit closer,” Harry countered. If he were being honest with himself, Harry was scared that Severus would retreat back to the kind of behaviour he’d adopted before – distant and afraid of attachment. He worried that they’d have a superficial relationship where they went for dinner and talked about inconsequential things and fucked but didn’t really know each other.

 

But Severus seemed to see this and moved closer to him, interlacing their fingers. “I apologise,” he said to Harry gravely, “I did not wish to crowd you. You didn’t appear to appreciate the attentions of Ms Granger or Molly Weasley.”

 

Harry’s heart lightened and he gripped the hand within his own. He felt precariously close to crying with the realisation that Severus had noticed his discomfort and had been taking steps to ease his uneasiness, even if he’d accidently done the opposite.

 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. He turned his head to look at Severus and noted that they were almost nose-to-nose now. Severus stiffened slightly.

 

Harry raised his free hand and cupped Severus’ cheek. He ran his thumb over the dark shadow under one obsidian eye. “You look tired,” he noted softly.

 

Severus snorted a laugh but spoke affectionately, “You are one to talk, Mr Potter.”

 

Harry couldn’t stop his lips twitching into a smile in response and he lowered his eyes. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

“I almost always am,” Severus said and he raised his hand to take Harry’s slightly rough chin between his fingers, “You haven’t shaved.”

 

“Not allowed a razor or a wand. They do it every so often but they don’t really like to come too close, especially with their wands. They didn’t know how effective the bands would be,” Harry replied frankly. Severus pulled back and Harry felt like he’d made a mistake in telling the other wizard this piece of information. He felt a surge of self-hatred within his chest that was accompanied by shame.

 

But Severus had raised his hand to the bruising to Harry’s forehead. “Would you like me to heal it?” he asked, caressing the marred skin tender.

 

Harry blinked frantically and shook his head. “It’s okay. Probably best to leave it now. But thank you. Again,” he whispered, “for everything.”

 

Severus lowered his hand. He was silent but kept hold of Harry’s gaze with his own.

 

Slowly, very carefully, Harry moved forward, lowering his eyes to Severus’ lips.

 

Their mouths met in a slow, sweet, tender kiss and Harry’s eyes slid shut. He felt like he’d come home after a long absence. He felt Severus’ fingers thread into his hair and he opened his lips, inviting the other man in. Their noses bumped and Harry tilted his head. His glasses were removed from his face and he moaned as he leaned into the kiss, deepening the connection. They separated only slightly and Harry continued to pepper small butterfly kisses on Severus’ thin but malleable lips.

 

Eventually, he stopped and Severus touched his forehead to Harry’s, keeping his hand in Harry’s thick, messy hair. Harry slowly opened his eyes and smiled at the slightly dazed look on Severus’ face.

 

He decided he could cope without magic if this is what he got in exchange.

 

*******

 

He hadn’t meant to kiss him so soon.

 

Severus stood at the stove, stirring the stew he’d made for dinner, thinking over what had happened. Harry was in the shower – Severus guessed it was his first real one in a long time and he didn’t begrudge the water bill he’d receive with the length of time Harry was taking – which gave Severus a chance to think and regroup.

 

It all felt like a bit of a whirlwind at the moment. He’d finally managed to locate Harry less than 24 hours ago and now the other man was in his shower. Naked. Naked in his shower…

 

And he’d kissed him.

 

_Damn it!_

 

When he’d realised Harry had been depressed Severus had promised himself he wouldn’t pressure Harry into anything. How could they build a meaningful relationship if they rushed it? They’d had sex on their second date the first time they’d gotten together, for Merlin’s sake, and look how that had turned out!

 

He needed to stop being a randy old bugger and give Harry time to get used to being out of hospital. Severus had placed Harry’s things into the spare bedroom, rather than his own, thinking that it would be too soon to have Harry sleep in his bed after being separated for so long and how things had ended. But now he couldn’t get his mind off having Harry beneath him, writhing in pleasure.

 

Severus recognised he’d been a bit of a bastard when it came to leaving Harry. Ronald and Molly Weasley had set him right where that was concerned. He absentmindedly rubbed his jaw. He’d certainly be more wary of the Weasleys in the future.

 

He’d be spending a lot more time with them in any case, it seemed. Severus had accepted that if he wanted to be in a relationship with Harry, which he did to an almost disturbing degree, he’d have to deal with the Weasley family.

 

The thought was not an entirely pleasant one.

 

The first few Weasleys to pass through his classes had been tolerable enough. William and Percival had even achieved Outstandings in their potions examinations and Charles had been generally inoffensive, though he’d left potions classes after his fifth year at Hogwarts. Despite their unexpected competence in the art of Potions, the Weasley Twins had been the latter bane of Severus’ existence until Harry himself had passed through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Of course, everything was different now.

 

Harry had turned out to be, as much as it pained him to admit to such a romantic concept, the love of his life. It was useless to regret the years of antagonism between them, as he suspected they had both needed the time and also the shared and diverse experiences to grow into a mutual state of compatibility.

 

His acceptance of Harry as the person he was likely to spend the rest of his life with did not at all ease his turmoil with regards to the pace their relationship had recommenced at. He wanted Harry so badly but didn’t want to set him back in his recovery. From his understanding, Harry would likely be managing some form of mental ill health for the rest of his life.

 

He heard Harry’s foot steps on the stairs, rousing him from his thoughts, and turned off the hob.

 

Severus turned to see Harry step nervously into the room, wearing a new set of pyjamas and a pair of Severus’ socks. He knew them to be his as Minerva had given them to him for Christmas and they were patterned with tiny pictures of cauldrons. He’d feigned contempt at the time but had kept and worn them nevertheless.

 

Harry stood anxiously by the door, not meeting Severus’ eyes. He looked entirely like he had no idea what to do with himself. The silver bands gleamed on his wrists as he wrapped his arms protectively around his waist.

 

“Smells good,” Harry said quietly.

 

“It is a fairly simple recipe,” Severus replied, feeling every inch of the chasm that seemed to have opened up between them since Harry had gone for his shower.

 

Harry simply nodded. His green eyes darted around the kitchen, taking in every detail. They lingered on the back door for a moment before returning to the floor beneath his feet.

 

“Can I have a drink?” Harry asked, softly, still looking at the floor.

 

Severus frowned. “This is your home for now,” Severus said, “I do not want you to feel that you must ask.”

 

Harry nodded again. Severus wondered if something had happened in the shower to prompt this shift in behaviour. He stepped forward to close the physical distance between them.

 

“What is wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Harry answered far too quickly. Severus raised a sceptical eyebrow and Harry shifted uneasily. “It’s nothing.”

 

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare at Harry who let out a frustrated sigh.

 

“It’s really nothing.”

 

Severus scowled and turned back to the stew. From what Granger had told him, he had been the only person Harry had been willing to open up to since his admission to the Janus Thickey ward. But now he seemed to have closed right back up again.

 

Harry came to stand beside him, watching over his shoulder as he seasoned the stew.

 

“It does look really good,” Harry whispered and leaned his head on Severus’ shoulder. His thick dark hair, still damp from the shower, smelled of tea tree oil but Severus was still able to pick up the faint sensation of strawberries that was Harry’s magic. He supposed he’d been right that the Magic Binders were not meant to be used to control magic as powerful as Harry’s.

 

Severus switched the spoon to his right hand and wrapped his left arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer. Harry stiffened slightly before sighing happily and leaning further into the embrace.

 

“It would be preferable if you told me what was wrong,” Severus said, though he kept his gaze fixed on the food.

 

“My bag is in the spare room,” Harry murmured after a few moments of silence.

 

_Oh, Merlin._

 

Severus’ hand stilled and he closed his eyes.

 

“I understand,” continued Harry, “I’m… I’m sorry for earlier.”

 

He started to pull away but Severus spun around and grasped Harry’s waist. “I’m unsure you do understand,” Severus said quickly, suddenly cognisant of his error, “I… I do not wish to rush you.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said not meeting his eyes, “Um, I… I’m probably just going to go to bed. Sorry.”

 

Harry drew away but Severus pulled him closer again. “No, I… We cannot do this. We cannot ignore it if we do something to hurt one another or irritate each other. We’ll never work through things if we hide, Harry,” Severus entreated, “We agreed things would take time and I-“

 

“Please, Severus, I just want to go to bed. I was an idiot,” Harry said shaking his head, clearly trying to get out of the conversation entirely.

 

Severus grasped Harry’s face in his hands, feeling the stubble beneath his palms, and forcing Harry to look at him. “No,” Severus said quickly, “I’m not leaving this alone. We need to talk about it.”

 

He looked into the shining green eyes that were begging him to stop, to let Harry go. Harry’s thin face was lined in distress and Severus felt horrible for the rising desire he felt to kiss the suffering away. They _couldn’t_ rush things this time. They just couldn’t!

 

 _I will not kiss him. I will_ no _t kiss him. I_ will not _kiss him._

He drew the younger man into him and kissed him hard. Harry groaned into his mouth and his hands came to grip Severus’ waist tightly. The younger man stepped closer so that Severus’ hardening prick lined up directly with the sharp line of Harry’s hip.

 

Salazar’s Ghost it had been too long since he’d had sex, Severus thought. He moved one arm to wrap around Harry’s torso and continued to caress the side of Harry’s face with the other as Harry’s thumbs dug into his hips. The feel of the sharp line of Harry’s shoulder blade brought him back to reality and he pulled away, leaving Harry – eyes closed and mouth open – in limbo.

 

The almond-shaped emerald eyes shot open and blinked at him frantically.

 

“What- what’s wrong?” Harry asked breathlessly, brow furrowed. Severus almost caved at the desperately confused look in Harry’s brilliant eyes.

 

“We need to slow down,” he said in a strangled voice, “This… You’re just out of hospital.”

 

Harry’s frown deepened and he pulled roughly away from Severus, who immediately missed the feel of the other man in his arms.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “But I wasn’t exactly an invalid, Severus.” Harry’s jaw was set in a firm line that accentuated the gauntness of his cheeks and Severus felt suddenly ashamed at getting so turned on when his lover was still so ill.

 

“You’re not well,” Severus insisted, “I don’t want to rush you into a physical relationship.”

 

Harry scoffed and turned away, wrapping his arms around himself.

 

“Merlin, Sev,” he said, still facing away, “Talk about mixed messages.” Severus saw Harry raise his hand to his eyes, rubbing them furiously, and felt immediately guilty.

 

“Harry-“

 

“I just-“ Harry interrupted, “Fuck, I wish this were easier!”

 

Severus stepped forward and moved to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder but Harry spun to face him, sadness evident in his entire stature.

 

“I just want us to be… normal,” Harry said desperately, “I don’t want to be ‘depressed Harry’ anymore.”

 

He ran his hands frantically through his hair and paced as Severus watched, frozen in place, wishing he could ease Harry’s obvious anguish.

 

“I just want to be _normal_ , Severus,” Harry turned to him, fraught and pleading, “I’m alive for whatever goddamn reason you want to make up but I don’t feel it. I don’t.”

 

Severus’ jaw clenched at the sorrow Harry was projecting. He wanted to take Harry in his arms and remove the hurt and the badness and just have him in his arms where Severus knew Harry was safe. He was so scared of ruining it all again and it was stopping him from just _being_ and loving and letting things happen. Severus wasn’t used to spontaneity. Harry was impulsiveness personified.

 

“Please, Severus,” Harry implored in a whisper, tears building in his eyes, “please, just make me feel alive?”

 

Maybe there needed to be a compromise?

 

Harry’s eyes closed in resignation and he began to turn away again, about to give up. But Severus surged forward and grasped Harry at the hips, pulling him flush to his own. He captured Harry’s lips in an eager, reckless kiss as Harry’s hands clasped around his neck.

 

‘Fuck slow,’ thought Severus, as he plundered Harry’s mouth and rocked his hips against Harry’s. He wanted this too much to consider ‘slow’ an option now.

 

Harry’s tongue danced across his own and a moan rose from between them, though Severus wasn’t quite sure who had made the noise. He felt Harry tug at the collar of his shirt and he began to push on the edge of Harry’s pyjama bottoms trying to lower them down. He was ever grateful for elasticated waistbands at that very moment as the trousers slid smoothly over Harry’s backside and down his thighs, revealing Harry’s naked and erect cock. Slowly he backed Harry towards his kitchen table and Harry managed to kick his trousers away from them.

 

Severus’ shirt had somehow come unbuttoned and Harry pushed is forcefully from his shoulders. They continued to kiss as Harry undid Severus’ belt and trouser buttons. Severus moved his attention to Harry’s jaw, licking up it until he reached the perfect earlobe. Harry was panting wildly as Severus nipped at the skin of his ear.

 

“Oh, Merlin, Harry,” Severus breathed, “I am so sorry.”

 

“Sshhh,” Harry hushed him and drew him into another kiss, having successfully divested him of his belt, which had gone flying across the kitchen, “Don’t be sorry. We can talk later. Just keep kissing me.”

 

Severus gladly obliged but murmured, “Demanding, aren’t you?”

 

“You love it,” Harry said in between kisses.

 

Severus paused and pulled back. He looked Harry straight in the eyes and swept the dark fringe from Harry’s forehead. “I do,” he said seriously.

 

Harry swallowed, his eyes shining with love, before grinning. He leaned forward so that his lips were grazing Severus’ ear when he spoke.

 

“Take me to bed?”

 

Severus responded by kissing Harry and embracing him tightly before Apparating them both up to the bedroom.


	18. Welcome to the Weasleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Molly had seen fit to invite all her children, their partners and children, Luna Lovegood and her boyfriend, and Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin as well as Harry and Severus. This served to cement in Severus’ mind that Molly had nominated herself as the head of their oddball family and the orchestrator of how Harry and Severus should announce and progress their relationship from now on.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> I am overwhelmed by the comments and kudos! Thank you all!  
> I hope you enjoy this longer chapter.  
> C.O.

“We match.”

 

“Mmm?” Severus hummed in question, the movement of Harry’s lips on the bare skin of his chest and the rumble of Harry’s voice having woken him from a slight doze.

 

He opened his eyes as Harry’s fingers trailed over the smooth, shiny skin of the scars on Severus’ neck.

 

“We match,” Harry repeated softly. Severus looked down at Harry, whose head was lying on his left shoulder, and raised an eyebrow, still unsure of what Harry was getting at.

 

His unspoken question was answered when Harry reached over, took Severus’ right hand and brought it up to the left side of his neck. Under Severus’ fingers, he could feel the raised skin of where Harry’s own wounds were healing. There was an odd tingle of magic being emitted from the new skin, which made Severus frown.

 

“What did you use?”

 

He couldn’t stop the question from passing his lips and he scolded himself for the bluntness of the enquiry. Harry, though, gave no indication of being at all bothered or upset about it. He lifted his head to look at Severus with sad but curious eyes.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“There is… magic. I can feel it. It does not feel like any healing spell, though,” Severus replied as he continued to stroke the scars on Harry’s neck, “Which suggests to me that it is an underlying spell still at work. It had not been completely reversed.”

 

Harry swallowed and dropped his eyes to Severus’ chest. The younger man sighed and then rested his head back onto Severus’ shoulder before he spoke.

 

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” he whispered.

 

Severus froze and tore his hand away from the wounds. He was motionless with rage and sorrow and shame and immediately wished he hadn’t asked and that Harry hadn’t told him and that Harry hadn’t tried to kill himself and that he’d never left in the first place!

 

Harry had said that it wasn’t to do with Severus leaving but surely he’d have recognised such a slide into catastrophic depression in his lover? Surely, having been near to falling into the abyss himself, Severus could have prevented the attempt itself if he’d been there?

 

Why did Harry have to use that particular spell? Why had Severus even invented such a spell as this in the first place?

 

A cool hand came to rest on his chest, just above his heart, and Severus let out a shuddering breath he’d been storing up during the build up of his internal fury.

 

“Please,” Harry murmured and placed a gentle kiss to the skin above his hand, “Don’t… I was stupid.”

 

“You were clinically depressed,” Severus responded sharply but softened his tone as he continued, “You still are.”

 

“So you shouldn’t feel guilty,” Harry told him bluntly, “I can tell you do for some reason.”

 

“That you cannot think why I feel so is most troubling to me,” Severus replied, trying to get out from under Harry, who was lying half on top of him.

 

“Hey, no,” Harry said, pulling him back and then getting up himself when Severus managed to stand. He came round the side of the bed and took the trousers from Severus’ hands before stepping forward and wrapped his arms around the taller man’s neck. Severus refused to raise his eyes and stood very still as Harry moved closer to him. “You do not feel guilty, ok? I know why – you think you could have stopped it, you think we’re moving too fast again, you think because I used your spell it’s your fault.”

 

Severus closed his eyes and tried to move away but Harry just pulled him closer, aligning their naked hips as best he could. Eventually, Severus looked up and met Harry’s eyes. When had he gotten so perceptive?

 

“None of that is true,” Harry whispered, leaning in and kissing Severus’ lips so softly he almost couldn’t feel it, “It’s still hard, not going to lie about that. And I can’t just switch off the feeling that people would better off if it had worked.”

 

Severus abruptly gripped Harry’s waist with his hands and pulled him in closer. He rested his cheek to Harry’s cheek and closed his eyes tightly at the very thought of Harry not being with him anymore. It was so bizarre for him to have gone from being so afraid to commit to never wanting to let this young man go.

 

“But I’ll try,” Harry continued in hushed tones, “And being with you does help. I’m not sure I’d have the strength on my own at the moment. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to be here all the time.”

 

He added the last part hurriedly and pulled back enough to meet Severus’ eyes. “I don’t want you to feel scared to leave the house or that if you leave I’ll suddenly top myself. But knowing you’re going to be there helps.”

 

Harry gave him a tiny smile before resting his head in the crook of Severus’ neck.

 

Severus closed his eyes and enfolded Harry in his arms, allowing them this small moment of peace.

 

*******

 

He was running.

 

He could see gnarled, leafless trees on either side of him. There was a light ahead, flickering like a fire and behind was a mess of trees and shrubs and darkness. Leaves on the ground crunched under his feet as he ran. Bare twigs scraped his face and arms as he ran. He was limping.

 

He had to run; he knew he did. He had to… not be somewhere, he had to get away!

 

So he was running.

 

His hair swept back off his head as a cold breeze swept past him and now he could hear his panting breaths and pounding heart in his ears. The wind chilled his face and ears and stung his cheeks where they were scratched.

 

 _Stop._ _You’re here again. Yet again._

 

He stopped and looked around.

 

He stood at the edge of a clearing. It was dark beyond a flickering fire. He could see no one. But he could hear… something. Someone was moving. He saying something; laughing…

 

“ _Avada kedavra!_ ”

 

Green light flashed and he was blinded and-

 

*******

 

It was one of Harry’s bad days, Severus realised.

 

It was noon and Harry was wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, having not moved since he’d sat himself there at seven in the morning. Severus had brought him a cup of tea and a slice of toast and tried to encourage him to eat, but had gotten frustrated when Harry had simply nibbled on the edge of the bread before setting the plate down on the side table. The gnawed, cold toast still sat in the location Harry had put it and the tea had formed an unpleasant skin on the top.

 

Severus had stomped down to his potions lab in the cellar and banged his tools onto the worktop with unnecessary force.

 

He scowled, now, at the simmering Dreamless Sleep he had decided to make, despite Harry’s weak protests that it wouldn’t work. Severus was tired and grumpy from being woken up most nights with Harry’s nightmares. It had been almost two weeks since Harry had moved in after being released from the hospital and Severus tried not to feel he’d made a mistake. The thought made him feel guilty and angry.

 

A couple of days before, Harry had tried to move himself into the other bedroom and had even asked Severus to cast a silencing charm on it so he didn’t disturb the other man’s sleep any longer. Severus had hissed that he would do no such thing as ignore Harry’s problems like that or leave him to suffer alone and that it was that kind of attitude that led Harry to where he was in the first place.

 

Harry had set his lips into a thin line and said nothing, just nodding and leaving to sit in the garden without picking up a jumper despite the late September breeze in the air.

 

Severus had retrieved him a little before sunset and pulled him into a tight embrace to warm him up, not verbalising his apology, but knowing Harry understood when the thin arms closed around Severus’ torso.

 

He’d known it would be hard but the exhaustion was proving to be more taxing than he’d expected. Granger had brought over a couple of Muggle books about depression and anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder. They sat on the kitchen table, as yet untouched. Harry had initially tried to go about his business as though the last month hadn’t happened and Severus guessed that Harry believed if he acted ‘normally’ then he’d be ‘normal’.

 

Needless to say that tactic had failed miserably. Granger had suggested speaking to someone neutral, arguing that Severus and Harry’s other friends were too close to the situation for Harry to feel comfortable to talk freely. Harry had looked at her sceptically and told her he’d talk to someone if she could find a person who knew enough about Muggle psychiatry and the Wizarding world so he didn’t risk getting locked up again if he made a slip.

 

So far, it seemed, Granger had failed to find such a person.

 

Severus turned down the heat under his cauldron just as the door to his lab opened.

 

“Severus?” Harry’s voice called and a headful of messy black hair peeked around the door, “Severus, I’m… Uh, do you want some tea?”

 

Severus gripped his hands on the workbench and said nothing. The stairs creaked as Harry padded down them. He was still in his pyjamas and was barefoot. Severus turned away to start tidying his instruments.

 

“I’ve brought your post. It’s some more commissions, I think. I know you just delivered your last ones to London,” Harry said quietly from beside him. When Severus didn’t turn around from his task, Harry silently placed the envelope on the worktop, far enough from the still-hot cauldron that there was no risk of it being spilled upon, and turned to go. “We’ve also been invited to the Burrow tomorrow night for dinner. Mrs Weasley won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, I’m afraid. And Hermione says Gary and Steven are going for dinner and she asked us round too.” Severus stayed silent.

 

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Harry continued in a quiet, sad voice.

 

Harry had almost reached the top of the stairs when Severus finally turned around.

 

“Harry,” he said, causing the other man to pause, “I… thank you.”

 

Harry, who had turned around with a hopeful look on his face, nodded as his face settled into a neutral position. “You’re welcome,” he replied and turned to continue up the stairs.

 

“Harry,” Severus called again, moving up the stairs himself.

 

“Severus, just leave it,” Harry said, placing a hand on the door, “I’m sorry. I really am but I offered to sleep separately and now you’re tired and grumpy because you wouldn’t let me and I really can’t be bothered with anything today, especially not your guilt complex.”

 

Severus stiffened, feeling indignant. He was trying to _maintain_ their relationship, to help Harry through his depression.

 

“Maybe I should have just stayed in St. Mungo’s,” Harry whispered.

 

“No,” Severus replied sharply, causing Harry to jump slightly at the forceful tone, “No, that would not be acceptable. If you would just try the Dreamless Sleep we might get at least a night-“

 

“It’s stopped working! I don’t know what these dreams mean but no matter what I do they get through,” Harry yelled, allowing his temper to flare. The silver bands glowed and buzzed in protest. Harry took a deep breath and Severus moved up the stairs to meet him.

 

He took the other man’s hands in his own, kissing the knuckles as he caressed the bands. “Would you tell me? Perhaps we can figure them out together? We do not talk enough despite our initial promises” Severus suggested softly, realising shouting would do nothing to ease either of their suffering.

 

Harry allowed himself to be drawn forward and nodded into Severus’ shoulder.

“I really am sorry, Sev,” he said, “I don’t want you not to sleep or be angry and I know it’s hard. I’m not exactly an easy person to live with at the moment.”

 

“It would be foolish to believe things would be simple,” Severus replied, stroking Harry’s hair, “You always have done your best to vex me.”

 

He felt Harry’s body shake with his chuckles and was glad that Harry had taken the teasing as intended. He tried very hard not to walk on eggshells around the other man but both of them had rather volatile tempers if they were triggered appropriately.

 

“Will a cup of tea and a biscuit whilst you read your post and finish up get me back towards being in your good books?”

 

Severus pretended to think for a moment. “It would do no harm to test the theory, certainly.”

 

Harry’s soft laughter did much more to help Severus’ bad mood than anything else would at that moment, he thought.

 

*******

 

“Molly Weasley is going to kill me for not feeding you.”  


“Huh?” Harry looked up from his plate of sausage and mash to see Severus watching him with a peeved expression. His fork and knife were already set together on his plate, indicating he’d finished his meal.

 

“You are feeding me though,” Harry said, confused. Severus cleared his throat and glanced at Harry’s plate before looking back at Harry and raising an eyebrow.

 

_He should just keep it there permanently for the number of times a day he does that._

Harry looked down to his plate, still three-quarters filled with the remains of his pulverised dinner, and flushed slightly. He’d clearly been pushing the dinner around the plate and squashing his sausages into an unrecognisable puree and forming mounds and valleys. The whole thing looked entirely unappealing.

 

He put his fork down and pushed the food away from him with a sigh. Severus frowned deeply at him but remained silent.

 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, “It was really nice until I destroyed it. I was just thinking.”

 

He rubbed absently at the silver band on his left wrist.

 

“Are you going to deign to tell me what was so consuming that you failed to recognise your recreation of The Destruction of Pompeii in food form?” Severus asked as banished the remains of Harry’s dinner and sent the plates to the sink.

 

His dark eyes focussed on Harry, making his feel like he was back in the Wizengamot and not their kitchen. They’d talked (or rather Harry had talked and Severus had listened and asked pointed questions) about his dreams earlier and Severus had come to the conclusion they were likely related to his depression and his persistent guilt rather than anything mystical, though Harry was still deeply unsettled by them. Voldemort’s connection to Harry may have been destroyed four years ago but these nightmares were almost reminiscent of the ones he’d had before. They _felt_ almost exactly the same. Why were the details revealed so slowly? Why was it always the same situation? Severus suggested that the revelation of the features had coincided with his worsening mental health and felt that strengthened the argument that they were just bad dreams.

 

Harry had little faith in dreams as prophecy, especially not from himself since the end of the war, and Severus trusted Divination about as much as he trusted first years in an unsupervised classroom. Harry didn’t dare suggest he was having prophetic dreams for fear of setting Severus off into a rant.

 

Harry had been quite glad to get the conversation over with and didn’t really want to delve in for another bout of dredging his psyche today. But Severus was clearly not going to let this go.

 

“Magic,” Harry finally said, “I… I feel like mine’s trying to… escape?” He wasn’t sure if that was the right word. He felt like his magic had its own agenda sometimes and hadn’t ever asked if this was a common occurrence in other magical people or beings. “I’m not sure of that makes sense but it started out as this itchy feeling every so often but it’s getting worse,” he continued, “More regular and stronger.”

 

Severus said nothing; just watched him. Harry had come to know the look Severus had on his face to mean the man was thinking very, very quickly.

 

Harry squirmed slightly, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Severus had made it clear that going back to St. Mungo’s wouldn’t be an option for Harry whilst they were together unless it was for a physical illness. But what Harry was really worried about was hurting his lover or hurting other people.

 

Harry would rather be locked in a magical containment bubble for the rest of his life than put others at risk of his magical outbursts.

 

After a few moments, Severus finally spoke.

 

“I think we should take them off,” Severus said quietly.

 

“WHAT?!” Harry cried, “Are you being serious? No, no way.” He leapt up from his seat and spun on his heel, leaving the room at a half jog. He wasn’t going to entertain such a foolish idea. Especially when they were meant to be going to Molly and Arthur’s tomorrow and Rose and Teddy would be there. He could not, _would never_ , put any of them at that kind of risk.

 

“Harry! Stop running away from me!”

 

“Yeah, well, I’ll stay and listen when you have some actually sane ideas, thanks very much, Severus,” Harry continued upstairs to the bedroom but changed his mind and chose to go to the bathroom instead. He could at least lock that without magic.

 

He did so and sat on the lid of the toilet seat rubbing the bands frantically, trying to stop the buzzing and push down his fear. He felt his back teeth vibrate for the first time in a couple of months and he closed his eyes tightly and covered his ears, ignoring the bands for the more distressing whispering that had started in his head again.

 

_Worthless. You’re a worthless, pathetic fool._

_He wants you to fail._

_You’ll hurt them and you won’t be able to save them. Just like you couldn’t save us._

_How could you believe Snivellus Snape would want the best for you? You’re such a disappointment._

“Harry! For Merlin’s sake Harry, open the door!”

 

A pounding on the door told him Severus had caught up but it sounded oddly muffled behind the whispers.  

 

Harry peeked his eyes open and gave a sharp cry as he found himself surrounded by people he knew to be dead. People he’d failed to save. Sirius was right beside him, sneering at him and looking utterly disgusted. Colin Creevey, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Lavender, Terry Freeman, and so many other faces – familiar and not – staring and whispering at him. He closed his eyes and covered his ears though it didn’t make a difference.

 

The bands buzzed faster and faster around his wrists and he curled up, sobbing into his knees.

 

BANG!

 

Silence.

 

“Harry!”

 

He continued to weep into his pyjama bottoms but felt a strong arm around him. He vaguely noticed the vibrations on his wrists and in his teeth had stopped, though he still felt the coolness of the bracelets on his skin. He lowered his hands and peaked up from his knees. Severus was staring at him, unmasked fear on his face and bald worry in his dark eyes. In the background he saw the door had banged into the wall when Severus had unlocked it, explaining the bang. Harry closed his eyes again and tried to pull away but was brought back round by the firm arm. He gave up the fight and allowed himself to be dragged into Severus’ embrace.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Severus’ robes, “I’m so, so sorry. It’s not happened in ages. Please… please…”

 

He wasn’t really sure what he was asking for. He just needed… something. Severus didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t making much sense as he just held Harry tighter, enfolding him in his arms, bringing a protective hand to rest on the back of his head.

 

*******

 

“We’ll be late,” said Severus, watching Harry from the bedroom door.

 

The younger man had not moved from the bed since the previous evening after their argument and Harry’s episode in the bathroom. He hadn’t said anything either, despite Severus’ desperate attempts at getting him to talk, and Severus was more worried than he’d ever been since Harry had moved in.

 

The only indication that Harry had heard him was the slight tightening of the cocoon of covers around his body.

 

“Molly Weasley will be stomping round here any moment if we don’t leave, Potter,” Severus said as sternly as he could. He didn’t know how to react to this silent, terrified Harry. He knew very well how to deal with Angry Harry and Apathetic Harry and Horny Harry (he knew that last one _very_ well indeed). But he’d seen how scared Harry had been last night and if he were being honest, Severus was terrified as well.

 

Harry had mentioned seeing people before but Severus had had the impression he had not suffered from such hallucinations in some time when he’d come home with Severus. The only sounds Severus had heard from behind the door were Harry’s cry and then his pleading sobs. His own heart had seemed to skip a beat before pounding hard enough to break through his chest wall. He’d been petrified.

 

So Severus automatically fell back into his old, cantankerous habits like every other time he was frightened or uncertain. Push people away before they push you.

 

Except this was Harry and he immediately felt horrible.

 

“Not going.”

 

Severus jumped at the croak of Harry’s voice from the mound of duvet.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not going,” Harry repeated, slightly louder this time, “Too dangerous.”

 

Well, at least he was talking.

 

“Don’t be silly,” Severus said stridently and moved forward towards the wardrobe. He began to pull out some of Harry’s clothes at random, throwing them on the bedroom chair. He didn’t care if nothing matched; it just gave him something to do with his hands. “Get up and get dressed. I can do you a shaving charm if you want.”

 

A frustrated sigh emanated from the bundle and it moved, though Severus could see nothing of his partner at all. “Leave me alone,” came a muffled, sullen reply.

 

“No,” he replied simply and flicked his wand, sending the blankets to the other side of the room with a flick of his wand, “Now, stop your childish behaviour and get dressed.”

 

“Childish?” Harry cried out indignantly, sitting up. He looked dreadful. His eyes were puffy and red as he squinted towards Severus; his glasses still sat on the bedside table. Severus knew he hadn’t sleep at all and he was half-inclined to indulge Harry in staying at home rather than subjecting both to Molly Weasley and her rambunctious family dinner. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the whole affair himself but he’d be damned if he let Harry continue to believe he was too dangerous to be around other people. If he’d managed to get any reaction at all, even an angry one, from Harry he’d continue to play on that for now.

 

Harry didn’t need coddled; coddling would just make things worse for him just now. He needed to be challenged and encouraged to challenge his own thoughts and feelings with support and love. Severus could certainly challenge him and, for better or worse, he definitely loved him.

 

“Yes,” Severus replied, though he knew it wasn’t childishness that motivated Harry’s actions last night, “I refuse to pander to it. Get up and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

 

He swept out of the room and down the stairs, leaving a gawping Harry behind him. He hoped he’d made the right choice.

 

Thankfully, ten minutes later, Severus heard the soft footfall on the stairs that told him Harry had at least gotten out of bed. He’d just have to wait to see if he’d gotten dressed.

 

A reluctant and subdued Harry entered the living room wearing the clothes Severus had left out for him. He’d washed his face and tried to tame his wild hair as well. Severus took in and let out a much-needed breath at the sight. He decided to cut the other man some slack and approached him slowly.

 

Harry moved into his arms without any prompting and Severus felt his eyelashes flutter closed against his neck. “Thank you,” Harry whispered. Severus suspected he meant for more than pulling him out of his (not undeserved) wallowing.

 

Severus said nothing but squeezed Harry closer.

 

The younger man pulled back and rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward. “I don’t know what happened, Sev,” he muttered before continuing shakily, “Been thinking about it all day. It’s been so long I thought it might have stopped. Kept thinking it’s because I’ve been happy again; that I seemed to forget them sometimes. Like, I need to be guilty. Maybe St. Mungo’s-“

 

“Do not even start,” Severus cut in shortly. He was not about to let that line of thought proceed any further. Harry nodded.

 

“Um,” he started again, “Don’t… Don’t leave me okay? I’m not sure I… Just please stay with me tonight?”

 

Severus frowned but nodded, tempering his urge to just say ‘fuck it’ and go out for a takeaway and beer to bring home.

 

As if hearing his thoughts Harry gripped his hand and said, “Molly would never let up on us if we cancelled now. We can talk more later.”

 

Severus nodded, feeling extremely proud of Harry and his bravery at that moment, and leaned down slightly to kiss him.

 

“Mmm,” Harry hummed when Severus pulled back, “What was that for?”

 

“I can hardly kiss you in front of Molly Weasley, can I? She’ll be planning a commitment ceremony before we know it,” Severus replied, giving a fake shudder.

 

Harry gave a small chuckle and led Severus towards the fireplace. “Probably already has a colour scheme and a venue planned if she’s invited you to dinner,” Harry teased.

 

“Better be green,” Severus muttered, pulling Harry into the hearth with him as it expanded.

 

Harry’s laughter echoed back into the empty living room.

 

*******

 

It hadn’t been as bad as Severus had thought it would be.

 

After dinner, which had been held in the garden to accommodate the number of people, Severus and Harry had retired to the living room. Molly had seen fit to invite all her children, their partners and children, Luna Lovegood and her boyfriend, and Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin as well as Harry and Severus. This served to cement in Severus’ mind that Molly had nominated herself as the head of their oddball family and the orchestrator of how Harry and Severus should announce and progress their relationship from now on.

 

He would have been more irked by it had he not been so full of treacle tart.

 

Severus had been nervous when Teddy Lupin had run up to Harry on their arrival and clamped his small arms around Harry’s legs, tears in his eyes. Harry had initially stiffened but quickly pulled Teddy into his arms and kissed the small boy’s cheek, holding him tightly. Clearly, he’d missed his godson greatly. Teddy’s hair had turned black and messy and he had cried intensely into Harry’s shirt. Severus saw Andromeda looking particularly guilty as she looked on. He supposed that Granger had filled her in at some point. Harry had been quietly telling Teddy that of course he loved him and he’d needed time to get well. He’d looked so distraught when trying to comfort the child that Severus approached and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

Harry had turned around, watery-eyed, and smiled. “Teddy,” he’d said, “Teddy this is Severus.”

 

Teddy had looked at him with solemn, hazel eyes and wet cheeks. “Are you Harry’s boyfriend?” he asked, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve in the way of all upset children Severus had met.

 

Harry had jerked and looked at Severus in surprise and embarrassment. “Teddy, I-“

 

“Yes,” Severus had told Teddy seriously, “Though I prefer the term ‘partner’.”

 

Harry had blushed attractively and set Teddy on the ground and Severus stepped closer. Teddy had surprised them both by putting out his hand, waiting to shake Severus’. Everyone had laughed as Severus shook the small hand sincerely and Teddy then took Harry’s hand in his own, clasping it tightly. It had taken until dinner to get him to let go and only then because Molly had seated him beside Victoire at a smaller table.

 

Severus had retreated to the house first, finding the large and exuberant family to be very tiring. He’d only meant to take a few minutes, telling Harry he was going to the bathroom, but had become fascinated with the small but crammed wizarding house and its furnishings.

 

He’d known the Weasleys to be hardworking but of meagre financial means. He’d only just come to appreciate how rich they actually were. The shelves and mantelpiece were littered with photographs and small knickknacks, mostly from Egypt and Romania, though some were clearly handmade by young children. A small, crystal version of the Burrow caught his attention. The engraving on the base stated a date in July and the inscription ‘ _Happy Anniversary Mr and Mrs Weasley. Love Harry’_. A set of knitting needles was working furiously in the corner, producing a maroon jumper. The laughter from outside was floating through an open window. Severus felt a pang of jealousy and longing to have been a part of such a family. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

He was studying the two clocks, standing side by side in the living room, and tracing Harry’s face on his spoon, when he felt Harry’s arms come around him.

 

“Thought you’d got sucked away down the drain,” Harry murmured into his shoulder, “These things do happen, you know.”

 

Severus snorted, “Indeed, I remember hearing about your second year rather well. And we can’t forget the Ministry. I think an entrance through a toilet is such a wonderful representation of where the whole organisation is going these days.”

 

He turned as Harry chuckled, taking Harry’s hands in his own.

 

“Don’t let Percy hear you say that,” Harry told him, “You’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

“Heaven forfend,” Severus replied, though his eyes flashed with teasing glee, “I would have to contend with the glares of another Weasley after that, no doubt.”

 

Harry winced and tugged one hand away to rub at his eyes under his glasses. “Sorry about Ginny,” he said, “I think it’s more to do with Michael not being here than anything. He had to work. Everyone else has been great, really. George really wants to get you aside to talk potions.”

 

“And Miss Weasley’s behaviour has nothing to do with the years of general disdain she felt for me and how I have now managed to insinuate myself into her ex-boyfriend’s life and have sex with him regularly?” Severus asked as he raised an eyebrow.

 

Harry flushed. “Probably just the disdain part. She got over the whole me liking men thing a while ago,” he told Severus with a small smirk. He stepped forward, closer to Severus so they were nearly flush against each other. He blinked up at Severus, who noted that the pupils within the emerald irises had dilated. “Well, right now I’m liking ‘man’ more than ‘men’.”

 

This Harry was very much one of the Harrys Severus preferred. He seemed to have relaxed throughout the evening, having been surrounded by friends and family, realising they were accepting and supportive, and Severus was very glad he’d convinced him to attend the dinner now. It was almost as if he’d forgotten about the night before.

 

“I should hope so, Potter,” Severus said, keeping his face blank even as he moved his hands to Harry’s backside over his jeans, “As long as it is I who am the man.”

 

As they moved slowly closer into a kiss, Severus hummed with anticipation. He supposed they’d spent enough time with Weasleys. And besides, Harry hadn’t slept – needed to get him to bed as soon as-

 

“Harry, are you – ooh!”

 

Severus growled as Harry jumped back and he turned to glare at Ginny Weasley for the interruption. She glared back, her bright brown eyes narrowing dangerously at the older man. Harry rubbed the back of his neck compulsively.

 

“Alright, Gin?” he asked. Severus saw his blush extend up the back of his neck and ears as he shifted from foot to foot. “What’s up?”

 

Ginny continued to glower at Severus as she spoke to Harry. “Hermione was looking for you,” she said and finally turned to Harry with a small, smug smile, “I said I’d look in here.”

 

“Oh, all right,” Harry drooped slightly and Severus suspected he thought Granger was about to ask about the books she’d given them. He deduced that Harry would much rather have been able to make an escape back to the cottage in Upper Flagley. Harry glanced at Severus, hesitated for a second before kissing him on the cheek, and made his way towards the door, the flush of his skin deepening even further. “Be back in a bit,” he called over his shoulder.

 

The sound of a throat being cleared brought Severus’ attention back to Ginny Weasley. Her face was thunderous and she had crossed her arms over her chest. At some point she had drawn her wand and was tapping the end on her hip.

 

“Perhaps I should go with him, in fact,” Severus suggested and began to follow his lover outside but his path was blocked by Ginny.

 

“I want to talk to you,” she told him firmly. Her entire demeanour left no scope for argument. Severus sighed and nodded in resignation. He resisted the urge to reach for his own wand.

 

“Very well,” he said, “Do you wish to sit?”

 

Ginny’s eye twitched but she otherwise ignored Severus’ attempt to gain control of the situation.

 

“You hurt Harry.”

 

Well, at least she was straight to the point, Severus thought. He stiffened but maintained eye contact with the small witch. Severus knew she was skilled with hexes and knew how to defend herself, mostly thanks to Harry’s tuition. He did not wish to spark her infamous explosive temper.

 

“You hurt him really badly from what Hermione and Ron told me,” Ginny continued, with frightening calm, “I don’t like it when my family gets hurt.

 

“Harry and I have a… complicated history,” she said playing with her wand, “But I care about him very much.”

 

“As do I,” Severus said quietly.

 

“Hmmm. Good,” Ginny acknowledged.

 

Then, quicker than Severus could ever have expected, she was right up in his face, her wand clutched at her side. He fought to maintain his position.

 

“Because if you _ever_ hurt him again,” Ginny whispered menacingly, craning her neck up so they were face to face, “I will, personally, make sure you’re sneezing bats for a month. Understand?”

 

Severus bit down his fury and guilt and a bizarre dash of fear and clenched his jaw. “Perfectly,” he enunciated carefully.

 

Just like that, Ginny’s entire disposition changed. “Great,” she said brightly, though her smile was still a little ominous, “Now, mum wants to talk to you about the holidays. Welcome to the family.”

 

She spun quickly and went back outside into the gathering twilight and the company of her family.

 

Severus stood, frozen to the spot for about a minute before he allowed himself to exhale. He supposed it was his fault for wishing to be part of a family…

 

*******

 

They left shortly after Harry had saved Severus from the clutches of Molly Weasley, who had been trying to ensnare into agreeing to attend Christmas at the Burrow.

 

Hermione, it turned out, found a potential therapist for Harry – though it would be difficult for Harry to say he felt particularly enthused by this prospect. He’d rather just try and ignore the whole thing and work a way through it himself. He knew this was silly; it hadn’t worked the last time, after all. It just felt weird to think about talking about it with a professional and it was mostly his guilt over the problems he’d caused that prompted him to agree.

 

Harry had taken the opportunity to question Hermione about the invitation to dinner the following week. Gary, it appeared, had asked if Harry was still seeing ‘the date he had in May’ or if he was single, because he had a friend who was ‘perfect’ for him. Harry had to wonder what Gary’s idea of ‘perfect for Harry’ was after the whole nightclub incident and had been enormously grateful that he was in a relationship with Severus.

 

However, Gary now wished to meet the man who’d ‘snagged’ him and Hermione had promised to invite them all round for dinner. She’d even told Gary Severus’ name. Harry was less than pleased.

 

Severus appeared even unhappier about it all and muttered something about ‘lots of commissions’.

 

When they’d arrived back at the cottage, Harry had immediately set about putting the kettle on. He flipped through the books Hermione had given them as he waited for the water to boil. Severus had retrieved his post from the cellar and was sorting his orders across from him. He paused on one in particular, frowning.

  
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, seeing Severus’ stormy expression.

 

“Just a commission from my main London client for a particular potion. He should not require so much of it,” he replied.

 

“Hmm,” Harry frowned as well, “What does that mean? Could he be selling it on?”

 

“There is a clause in my client agreement which should prevent such a thing,” Severus said, his face shuttering as he thought, “I shall attempt to find out though, when I deliver it to Castillo. It is a big order.”

 

Harry nodded. The kettle whistled and Harry moved to take it off the heat. As he went to fill the mugs with hot water, the kettle was removed from his hand and set down again.

 

Severus turned him around gently. “I believe we were in the middle of something when Miss Weasley interrupted us, though,” he whispered in Harry’s ear, allowing his lips to brush the cartilage.

 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, running his hands over Severus’ shoulders, relishing in the broad, firm muscle under the robes, “I believe we were.”

 

He didn’t wait for Severus to meet him halfway as he surged into the kiss he’d been wanting since before dinnertime. It always amazed Harry how comfortable and safe and yet so utterly aroused he felt when he was in Severus’ arms. He didn’t imagine the feeling would change any time soon.

 

It felt like heaven.


	19. Found Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Harry stared at Severus, who was doing his best to ignore him as he cleaned down his lab worktop
> 
> “Severus…” Harry said warningly, letting the other man know that just because he couldn’t do magic didn’t mean Harry couldn’t make things very difficult and very lonely for Severus.'
> 
>  
> 
> Hermione's dinner party doesn't quite go to plan and the following days bring another challenge to Harry and Severus' doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> I cannot fully express my gratefulness over the comments and kudos! This is a bit of a smooshy chapter but it does have plot points. Lots of dialogue. Also a wee bit of smut at the end.  
> This story is not beta-read as I couldn't find anyone to do so. I'm planning to go back to the beginning and edit it and post it on my LJ after it's all done.
> 
> Thank you again and again for reading!  
> C.O.

“What do you mean you’ve got a conference? Since when do you go to conferences?”

 

Harry stared at Severus, who was doing his best to ignore him as he cleaned down his lab worktop

 

“Severus…” Harry said warningly, letting the other man know that just because he couldn’t do magic didn’t mean Harry couldn’t make things very difficult and very lonely for Severus.

 

The older man let out a frustrated and resigned sigh. “Since your friends invite me to inane dinner parties every week,” he said, raising and eyebrow and crossing his arms across his chest.

 

Severus had made no bones about not wanting to go to Ron and Hermione’s house for dinner, where he would be forced to socialise, not just with Harry’s friends but Hermione’s very excitable and very camp cousin, Gary, and his partner. The closer the night got, however, the quieter Severus had become.

 

And now the night was here and Severus had signed up for a Potions Conference in Scotland. Any other night, Harry would have been happy that Severus felt it was all right to leave the house (leave him alone) but now he was just angry.

 

“But the whole point was that Gary wanted to meet you. I don’t particularly want to go, either, Severus,” he complained, “Gary’s about as tolerable as a stone in my shoe when I’m _not_ feeling depressed. I’m not sure how I’ll react to his special brand of hyperactivity right now.”

 

He sighed and leant his face in his hand, resting his elbow on the workbench. It was quickly poked away by Severus.

 

“Off,” he said, shoving the offending joint off the table and making Harry jerk forward and almost his hit chin, “You need not go, either. It is not compulsory. Especially when you haven’t slept for two days.”

 

Severus sounded annoyed, though concern underlay his words. Harry straightened up but avoided his gaze. He’d stayed awake to allow Severus a chance to catch up on sleep. He’d reasoned that at least one of them could be rested and he could always nap during the day if he wanted – it wasn’t as though he worked. But he’d taken to watching Severus brew, relying on Pepper-Up potions and coffee to stay awake.

 

Even when he didn’t have the nightmare about running through a forest, his dreams were not often pleasant.

 

“You noticed…” he muttered and scuffed his trainer on the floor.

 

“It is difficult not to when my supply of Pepper-Up is depleted and my lover looks like he’s about to keel over and has a constant tremor from the potions and caffeine,” Severus snarked at him.

 

Harry rubbed his face wearily. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “I just wanted you to get a rest. You said you’ve got a big commission from the London guy.”

 

“Just come to bed with me and stay there when we go to sleep. I will rest much easier with you next to me,” Severus told him.

 

Harry smiled gratefully and then remembered why this had come up. “But you’ll still not come to Hermione’s with me tonight?” he guessed, crossing his own arms.

 

“Not for a thousand galleons, my dear, Harry,” Severus replied, coming round the bench. He kissed Harry on the forehead and continued to tidy up as Harry sighed, resigned to his solitary fate.

 

*******

 

Harry decided to Floo to Ron and Hermione’s house an hour before Gary and Steven were due to arrive. He’d be able to let Hermione know Severus wasn’t coming and avoid the possibility of bumping into the pair on the way from the Apparition point.

 

Hermione was on the phone, apparently to Gary, when he arrived. He gave her a wave and picked up Howard in his ball when it hit his ankle. They’d have to put in him in his cage in the study when the Muggles arrived.

 

He took the opportunity to pet Howard whilst he could, though it reminded him to ask Hermione if he could take him back to the cottage later on. Severus would just have to cope with the animal.

 

“No, Gary, you don’t have to bring anything,” Hermione said into the receiver exasperatedly, “No, we’re quite alright for music, thanks. How did you get it to the B&B? No, I don’t think Harry wants you to bring your music collection either, do you Harry?” Harry shook his head vigorously, as vivid memories of the night in the club resurfaced. “Yes, Harry’s here. No, no, Severus doesn’t seem to be…” Harry shrugged at her and shook his head again, “Seems he can’t make it. For God’s sake, Gary, just get over here and we’ll talk then, okay?”

 

She hung up the phone and growled. “Sometimes I wonder about what he puts in his water…”

 

Hermione then turned to Harry and smiled broadly but then appeared concerned, “Harry, how are you? You look tired.”

 

“And you sound like Mrs Weasley,” Harry told her, giving her a one-armed hug in greeting, moving Howard to one side.

 

“She might have the right idea this time,” she told him, giving him a critical once over, “Is it nightmares?”

 

Harry coughed, feeling uncomfortable, and said, “Sometimes. Other times it’s just thoughts. Keep going around my head.” He looked at her worried expression and quickly added, “But Sev’s great. I feel bad for waking him up but he does help. And he won’t even hear about sleeping apart.”

 

Ron entered the room, carrying Rose and covered in a substance Harry dearly hoped was chocolate. “There was a Rosie incident with pudding,” Ron said and licked some of the brown substance off his chin.

 

Rose was coated in a brown layer as well but giggling madly and clapping. “Dada mess!”

 

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione groaned, “Brilliant. Ron, could you get her cleaned and I’ll come put her to be? Gary and Steven will be here soon.”

 

Harry was trying not to laugh and covering it with a fake coughing fit. Hermione glared at him. “And you; take your pet to the study and his cage. Steven can’t see him.”

 

Harry nodded. “I was going to take him back to the cottage later, if that was okay?”

 

Hermione waved an impatient hand but nodded as she stomped through to the kitchen, mumbling to herself.

 

As he gathered Howard’s hamster ball, Harry glanced at Ron who looked totally un-phased. “What’s up with Hermione?”

 

“She just stresses whenever she thinks she has to impress people,” Ron shrugged, “Steven and Professor Snape are ‘people’; we’re nuisances. Where is your grumpier half by the way?”

 

“Conference.”

 

“Ah, couldn’t face Gary, then?” Ron winked at him and led Harry upstairs, “Don’t really blame him, mind, but we’re going to be hearing it all night…”

 

Ron was, of course, right. Gary kept bringing up his sincere disappointment that Severus couldn’t make it, interspersed with stories about himself and Steven, and even Steven, who sat beside Harry, looked like he wanted to tell his boyfriend to stop.

 

Harry tried to block much of the chatter out and was supplementing his natural ability to do so with more wine than he probably needed.

 

“Steven and I have been together eight months, now, haven’t we petal?” Gary seemed to speak so quickly and without much room for breath that most of his questions appeared to be rhetorical, as no one got much chance to reply. “You and Severus must be, what? At least five months?”

 

“It’s complicated,” said Harry, shortly as it seemed Gary actually wanted an answer.

 

“How can it be complicated? I mean you’ve either been together-“

 

“Leave it, Gary,” Hermione said, seeing Harry shifting.

 

“But-“

 

“I was in hospital for a bit, okay? It’s not exactly conducive to a relationship, not being well,” Harry butt in with the white lie just to shut Gary up. He had been in hospital, after all. Harry felt his nerves begin to rattle.

 

“So what _exactly_ was it that managed to draw your Severus’ attention so much that he passed up a dinner with this fine set of people tonight then?” Garry asked, seemingly put off by the mention of anything remotely depressing, and grinned at Hermione who smiled back reticently.

 

“Conference,” Harry replied shortly, spearing a Brussels sprout with his fork. Ron snorted into his drink.

 

“Ooh, academic man is he, then? Smart men are very ‘in’ these days,” said Gary, winking at Steven. To be completely honest with himself, Harry couldn’t give a crap about what was ‘in’ or ‘out’ but tried to smile politely, despite his fraying nerves. Severus defied any social conventions anyway. “What does he do?”

 

“He’s, uh, he’s a chemist,” Harry mumbled, ignoring the confused look that passed across Ron’s face as he mouthed ‘Chemist?” to Hermione across the table. Ron could be about as subtle as a brick at times.

 

Steven seemed to straighten up beside Harry and Gary crowed with glee. “How freaky!” he exclaimed, “Steven’s been getting back into his chemistry recently, have you, lovely? Or is it biology?”

 

“They don’t want to hear about that, Gary,” Steven replied, “It’s just a bit of fun.”

 

“What about all the science books you got? They hardly look like fun!” Gary caught Harry’s eye and rolled his own, “You must get regaled all the time about all that boring science too! And I’m not allowed near his ‘lab’.” Gary used air quotes, emphasising what he actually thought of the space Steven used for his apparent experiments.

 

“Actually, I’ve been doing some, eh, chemistry myself the last few years,” Harry said, pushing his food around the plate and then added quietly, “Severus is really good though. Gets commissioned a lot.”

 

“I’m much more into high fashion and music, myself,” Gary continued, smugly, “I have to say, I love your bracelets, Harry. Very Gucci for Men,” Gary said to him and tried to grasp one of Harry’s wrists across the table, admiring the silver Magic Binder with awe. “Looks almost painted on but so textured too. Can I try one?”

 

Harry snatched his wrist back suddenly, not wanting Gary to try to remove the band controlling his magic. “Uh, no,” he said, avoiding Gary’s hurt and confused eyes and Ron and Hermione’s concerned ones. “Handmade. Bit delicate, sorry.” He stood up hurriedly, knocking his chair over in his haste, keen to get away as he felt the panic rise. Steven caught his eyes, which had an unreadable look in them, at the same time the buzzing started in Harry’s ears. Harry shut his eyes tight and shook his head, trying to clear the droning in his head. “Sorry, um, I’ll do the dishes, Hermione,” he said quickly, gathering up his own, half-eaten dinner but leaving the others.

 

He rushed into the kitchen. The whispering voices in his head started as he left but he heard Hermione apologise to the other guests before following him. Harry quickly put his plate onto the sideboard and braced himself on the counter top, closing his eyes. He tried desperately to ignore the susurrating accusations he could hear. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms.

 

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly and touched him on the shoulder. The buzzing and whispered seemed to die down and he turned to look at her. “Harry…”

 

“I know, Hermione,” he interrupted, “I know. I’m sorry… I should just go home. I didn’t mean to ruin your dinner.”

 

“I _really_ don’t care about the dinner, Harry,” she told him, taking his hands in hers and unfolding his tightly curled fingers, “I care about my best friend, who I’m really worried about right now.”

 

“Merlin, what must Gary and Steven think?” Harry murmured, ignoring her sentiment.

 

“Sod what they think,” Hermione snapped, “What’s happening with you?”

 

Harry sighed and shook his head. “I just need to go home and sleep, I think,” he peeked at her above his glasses. She looks extremely unconvinced. “I’m honestly fine, Hermione.”

 

“Please don’t be offended when I tell you I don’t believe you,” she replied, her eyes beginning to shine, “I’ve heard that before, Harry.”

 

Harry said nothing. He couldn’t really muster the energy to think of a rebuttal.

 

“Have you contacted the doctor I found-“

 

“No,” he replied, eyes now fixed on the floor, “Not yet.”

 

“Harry…”

 

“I will. I know. I promise.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I’ll go home, okay? Severus won’t be long. Might be home already. If you keep Gary and Steven out of the living room, I’ll use the Floo and take Howard,” he said.

 

“I can contact Severus for you, Harry,” Hermione suggested, “I’ll send a Patronus. I don’t think you should be alone and I’m sure he’d want to know.”

 

“No!” Harry replied hurriedly, “No, it will just worry him. And he rarely gets out, which is my fault.”

 

“Maybe he’s right to worry, Harry,” Hermione argued, “And if Snape’s staying in with you it’s because he wants to. I doubt he’s keep it quiet if he wanted to go out.”

 

“Please, Hermione,” Harry pleaded wearily, “I don’t want to embarrass him in front of the other people. I’ll just get Howard and go home.”

 

Ron’s head popped round the kitchen door. His face was lined with worry.   “Mate, you all right?”

 

“Fine, Ron,” Harry nodded and glared at Hermione when she appeared to be about to contradict him, “Just tired; going to go home. Keep the Muggles busy?”

 

“Sure, no problem,” his friend replied and seemed to be about to leave but Ron stopped for a second before turning round again, “Just… We’re here, all right, Harry? Don’t forget we’re here for you.”

 

*******

 

Severus arrived home early to a dark house. The conference, it seemed, had been more of a minor confab of has-been potioneers and alchemists discussing how modern cauldrons were nothing compared to the ones in their day and which recipe was best for keeping them regular.

 

Severus had to wonder why he’d been sent a notification of such an event. Was he really considered to be such a small fish in the potions pond? He was sure his business was one of the better-known owl order services and his research had been very promising before his short sabbatical to France and Harry had moved in.

 

He really needed a drink.

 

“ _Lumina_ ,” he muttered and flicked his wands to the lamps. He had turned to the recently restocked liquor cabinet before the lights came on. He frowned at the empty space where his good whisky should have been.

 

“If you’re looking for the Talisker, I have it here.”

 

“Argh!” Severus yelled as he spun round, “Harry? What in Merlin’s name are you doing sitting in the dark?” He frowned at the sight of his lover wrapped in his usual blanket, swirling a tumbler of whisky, and curled into the corner of the couch.

 

Harry shrugged and Severus took a deep breath, raising his eyes to the ceiling. He made sure to grab another tumbler from the cabinet before he joined Harry on the sofa. He didn’t have to wait for Harry to slump into him and place his head on Severus’ shoulder.

 

Severus took the bottle of Talisker, noted that a fair amount had disappeared, poured himself a healthy measure, and drank deeply before he spoke.

 

“What happened at dinner?”

 

He felt Harry shrug again and then the rumble of his voice through his shoulder. “Freaked out,” Harry mumbled, “Gary tried to touch the Binders. And I heard the… the whispers again and Steven was all… Urgh. I’m just mental, is all it is.”

 

“We’ve talked about this-“

 

“I know, Severus, I know,” Harry sighed in frustration, “I just… I don’t understand it; none of it makes sense. And it _hurts_. Because it all sounds so true and I… ”

 

He trailed off but sniffled and raised a hand to his face, wiping at it harshly.

 

Severus closed his eyes in sorrow and then opened them. He plucked the tumbler from Harry’s loose fingers and set it down on the table with his own. He pulled Harry round so he was half sitting in his lap and wiped at the tears. Harry was looking down, avoiding Severus’ gaze.

 

Had anyone seen them, they’d have been amazed at the tenderness with which Severus watched Harry’s face and wiped at the moisture on the younger man’s cheeks. Severus was often felt surprise at the gentleness he could display and the affection he felt towards this man. He didn’t think himself a kind man. He was often bitter and angry and he could hold marathon-length and ocean-deep grudges. But with Harry, Severus could feel his own self-erected barriers melt away and his heart reached out to the younger man like it had never done for anyone.

 

It broke him to see Harry suffer.

 

“Harry, I want you to listen to me again,” Severus said softly, cupping Harry’s jaw, caressing the stubble and then the high cheekbone with his thumb, “Like in the hospital, listen to me like that.”

 

Harry nodded, glumly but raised his eyes to Severus’.

 

“I promise you, even though it’s difficult now, you’ll get through it. You just need time and support. I know it sounds impossible right now but I promise that one day you’ll be able to say you’re fine and you will be,” Severus told him, “And I will be there with you, supporting you,” he placed a soft kiss on Harry’s lips, “and loving you. We’ll do this together.”

 

Harry smiled sadly at him and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Severus. Severus returned the embrace, burying his nose in Harry’s hair – he smelled faintly of whisky and of strawberries. He’d never tire of that smell, he thought. He closed his eyes and murmured softly to Harry as they sat.

 

“It will all make sense one day, I promise.”

 

*******

“Get your pet out of my potions lab!”

 

“All right, Severus! Merlin, you don’t need to shout,” Harry yelled back as he descended the stairs to the cellar to retrieve Howard. “You’re the one that left the door open.”

 

Severus glared at Harry who was removing Howard from the hamster ball he generally rolled about in. “And you insist on letting it roam free when most Pygmy Puffs reside in their cages quite happily,” he growled.

 

Howard cooed and sniffed towards Severus as Harry stroked him. “Well, he’s more active than most of them. And he probably smells your Calming Draught,” Harry said, “It’s quite pleasant at this stage, much better than that other potion you brewed earlier for your London client. I think he likes the lavender in the Calming draught. You like him too really; I’ve seen you cuddling him.”

 

Severus grumbled and Harry grinned at him, moving forward and holding Howard up so he could lick Severus’ nose. “Daddy Severus is just grumpy because he’s busy and we’ve not had time to make sure he’s a proper seeing to in bed, isn’t that right, Howie?”

 

“Do not make that thing into a child substitute,” Severus said, trying to be menacing but failing in the face of the fluffy ball of animal licking him, “Especially when you’re referring to our sex life. Or lack thereof, in this case.” He pulled back but scratched Howard behind the ears before Harry pulled him back to his chest.

 

Harry kissed him lightly on the nose where Howard had licked him and stepped forward again. “Mm, I’m feeling more like myself today,” he said, stepping closer still, trying his best to look and sound seductive, “Maybe we could go out for dinner and then see about removing the ‘lack thereof’ from that sentence.”

 

He tilted his head up to kiss Severus on the lips, a peck at first but returning more firmly a second later. He ran the tip of his tongue on the thin parting between the lips and finally felt Severus begin to respond. Potions-stained hands that smelled delightfully of lavender and a hint of jasmine came to cup his face as both of them opened their mouths to each other. It felt wonderful.

 

It had been a good few days since Harry’s dinner at Ron and Hermione’s and he’d been feeling horrible since then. But he’d been free of depressing and condemnatory whispers for the last day or so and though he wasn’t anywhere near feeling ‘fine’ all the time, it was a definite improvement.

 

Kissing Severus was always amazing, whether it was slow and sensual (like this time) or rough and demanding. He let a small moan of pleasure escape him as Severus’ hand ran through his hair.

 

It seemed to have an awakening effect on the other man who pulled back, though not too far away.

 

“You are distracting me, you imp,” Severus said, faking annoyance.

 

“I do my best,” Harry smirked at him, “And I do it very well, I think.”

 

Severus glared but kissed Harry lightly before pulling away entirely, “Let me work and I will see about continuing this later.”

 

Harry smiled widely and turned to go, receiving a mischievous pat on the bum as he went. “Oi! You can’t say that was me distracting you!”

 

“Yes, I can,” Severus said, “it is a very distracting sight.”

 

Harry shook his head and giggled as he ascended the stairs, holding Howard close to his chest. He had just closed the door to the cellar and was about to put the creature back into his ball when he heard something topple over in the living room.

 

He frowned and tiptoed to the living room door.

 

“Bloody impotence stick,” he heard before he pushed the door open fully.

 

“Malfoy?”

 

Draco Malfoy whirled around and immediately drew his wand, pointing it at Harry, looking furious and scared simultaneously. “Potter! Hands where I can see them and wand on the floor Potter, unless you want yourself ‘stupified’ to oblivion.”

 

“Malfoy, what are you?”

 

“ _Stupefy_!”

 

Harry quickly dodged the spell and ducked behind the wall, hugging a trembling Howard to his chest. Merlin he wished he had his wand.

 

“Malfoy put that thing away! I’m not going to curse you!”

 

“Damn, straight, Potter!” Draco replied coming closer to the door and then shouted, “SEVERUS! Severus! You’ve got an intruder!”

 

Harry was grateful as he heard the rapid stomping of Severus’ shoes on the cellar stairs. The cellar door crashed open just as Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, who was crouched on the floor of the hall.

 

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Severus snapped and Malfoy’s wand flew out of his hand towards Severus.

 

Malfoy gawped at him unattractively. “Why did you do that?”

 

“Because you had a wand pointed right at my unarmed lover!” Severus yelled at the blond man, whose jaw, Harry was quite sure, would hit the ground if it weren’t attached.

 

“Lover?! What?”

 

Harry accepted the hand that Severus held out for him. “Thanks,” he said and stood at Severus’ side. He tried to calm the terrified creature in his arms as Malfoy stared at them, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. It was almost as if his brain had shut off.

 

“It was him?” he eventually shrieked incredulously, “It was _him_ back in spring? _This_ is your lover boy who drove you to distraction?”

 

“Still bloody good at doing that, too,” Harry muttered with a smirk.

 

“What?” Malfoy barked.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“I would ask you to refrain from such childish bickering, gentlemen,” Severus intoned, “But Harry is my partner, Draco, so please, kindly, do not threaten him in our home.”

 

A thrill of pleasure ran through Harry at hearing the cottage described as belonging to both of them. His joy was short lived, though, when Malfoy spoke again.

 

“But Severus!” Malfoy exclaimed disbelievingly, “He’s unstable! Magically and mentally.”

 

It was though a pint of concrete had just been dropped into Harry’s stomach and he was momentarily lost for words. When he managed to find his voice again, he stuttered, “W-what?”

 

Severus was statuesque in his stillness beside him but Harry felt too nauseated to really register much apart from Malfoy’s voice.

 

“It’s all over the _Prophet_ ,” Malfoy continued, pulling a folded copy of the paper out of his robes, “I knew you didn’t read it, Severus, so I thought I’d bring a copy over and-“

 

“Gloat, Draco?” Severus cut in coldly.

 

The pale flush on Malfoy’s cheeks and his silence was enough to confirm Severus’ suspicion. Severus growled and tore the paper from Draco’s hand, unfolding it to reveal the front page.

 

Harry peered, numbly, at the headline.

 

‘ _Potty Potter_ \- _Boy Who Lived Mentally Unstable’_

It was almost exactly as he’d predicted on his admission day. A picture of St. Mungo’s sat beside one of Harry frowning at the readers. He recognised it from one of the Death Eater trials. A brief skim of the article beneath it told Harry that someone had leaked his suicide attempt and unstable wandless magic to the press. There was speculation of what an unstable, powerful wizard would mean for the Wizarding world. There seemed to be an entire section devoted to conjecture over Harry’s moral stance and comparisons to Voldemort and Grindelwald. It did not reveal where Harry was now, which suggested that the information was not fully up-to-date.

 

Howard let out a mewl of distress as Harry’s tight grip and Harry quickly release him onto the floor. The numbness started to fade as he stood again and he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

 

“Shit,” he gasped and backed into the wall. The silver bands on his wrists vibrated furiously against his skin as he hyperventilated. “Oh, shit.”

 

This was bad. This was more than bad. This was fucking disastrous. This would never die down.

 

“Harry,” Severus’ voice said to him from somewhere too far away, “Harry, sit down, please. Harry! Look at me!”

 

How could Harry look at him when he was so far away? His mind swam with images of Azkaban cells and his magic exploding and people whispering and cowering from him and dead and dying…

 

“Harry, please, sit down! You’re having a panic attack,” said Severus’ faint voice.

 

His legs collapsed beneath him and he felt strong arms under his own and suddenly he was back in the hallway with Severus right beside him, easing him to the floor.

 

“Oh, fuck, Severus!”

 

He surged forward into Severus’ waiting arms. He vaguely registered Malfoy in the background looking at him, aghast, as he clung to Severus who was anchoring him to reality.

 

“Harry! We just saw the papers!”

 

Hermione and Ron rushed into the hallway from the living room, clearly having Flooed in, and stopped dead, first at the sight of Draco Malfoy and then at Harry clinging to Severus.

 

“What are you doing here?!” Ron and Malfoy exclaimed simultaneously at each other.

 

“Harry,” Hermione breathed, ignoring the outburst from the two men and falling to her knees beside Harry and Severus.

 

“Oh marvellous, Severus,” Draco drawled, “If I’d known this would be a Gryffindor melodrama convention-“

 

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy!” Ron shouted.

 

“Ronald,” Hermione glared at him.

 

“On this occasion, Ms Granger, I agree with your husband,” Severus said pulling slightly back from Harry to glower at Malfoy, “Desist Draco.”

 

Malfoy clamped his mouth shut but was still watching Harry as though he were a ticking bomb.

 

“H-how?” Harry managed to stammer out, “How?”

 

Hermione seemed to understand what he was asking and replied, looking and sounding as distressed as Harry felt, “I don’t know, Harry. They must have gotten different quills to the ones George sent to write anything about you at all. But I don’t know how they got all that information.”

 

“They have everything, Hermione,” Harry choked out.

 

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

 

Harry just nodded and pulled back from Severus, covering his face with his hands. “They’re going to have a field day about this at W.A.D.E. and the Ministry,” he groaned. He lowered his hands and shook his head heavenward. “It doesn’t really even matter who did it; the information is out there. It was foolish to think I could hide it forever.”

 

Nobody said anything.

 

“Yes, well, thank you all for the resounding denials there,” Harry said sarcastically, “Nice to know what you all think.”

 

“For the record, Potter, I always thought you were a fool.”

 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Ron growled. Malfoy mock-zipped his mouth shut.

 

Harry sighed and laid his head back against the wall. “They’ll have me locked away and examined,” he muttered, “Maybe I should just give myself over.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Severus said sharply, “I’ve told you before it will not happen.”

 

“What can I do, though? I won’t be able to go anywhere without being hounded – the whole scandal over my being gay took ages to die down,” Harry said, a little desperately. Malfoy made an odd half-coughing sound that most likely covered a laugh. Harry ignored him and continued, “If they think I’m dangerous W.A.D.E. and the Minister will be sending Auror squads after me.”

 

“Unfortunate that you don’t have a friend in the Aurors who can warn you about these things, eh, Potter?” Malfoy sneered.

 

“Actually,” Ron said, blushing, “I’ve left the Aurors.”

 

“What?” Harry asked, exchanging a look with Severus.

 

“Yeah,” continued Ron, “Um, I didn’t agree with some of the new Ministry practices and they told me I’d never get a promotion unless I did things I didn’t want to do. So I’m going to help George with the shop.”

 

“Well, that makes you a bit useless, doesn’t it Weasel?”

 

Ron glared but turned to Severus to ask, “Can I hit him? He’s your friend so I thought I’d ask first.”

 

Before Severus could answer, Hermione spoke up from her spot on the floor. She was scouring the discarded newspaper and said, “They don’t know everything, Harry. They don’t know about your flat. A lot of this article is speculation.”

 

Harry looked at her, puzzled, “What does that have anything to do with it?”

 

“Someone managed to get around the confidentiality clause we put into your discharge agreement,” she told him, “It has to have been a Healer giving the information. The Healers didn’t know about the flat being destroyed or about Grimmauld Place. The Healers said they had to tell the Ministry about you being released from hospital and we thought we’d accounted for that.”

 

“But it was just an agreement, Hermione,” Harry said, still confused, “Anyone could have broken it at any time. I didn’t know the Ministry might already have the information, though. I’m surprised they haven’t tried to find me already. But anybody involved in my care could have spilled the beans, couldn’t they?”

 

Hermione and Severus exchanged guilty glances and Hermione flushed. “Um, well, it was actually a spell. It… We made the Healers at the hospital sign an agreement that was automatically linked to a tongue-tying curse,” she admitted quietly, “Nobody at the Ministry actually found out.”

 

Harry gaped at her and then turned to Severus who avoided his gaze.

 

“That’s… That’s…” Harry said and a slow grin spread across his face, “Bloody brilliant, actually.” Hermione flushed a deeper red but smiled back. “But I’m guessing we have no way to prove which one talked?”

 

“Not quickly,” Hermione acknowledged.

 

Harry nodded and turned to Severus, who appeared to be watching him with a guarded expression. He reached out and took Severus’ hand.

 

“Guess I’ll be hiding out at home instead of going out for dinner like I suggested,” he said apologetically.

 

“I’m sure we’ll cope,” Severus replied, squeezing his hand.

 

*******

 

Harry pulled his shirt off over his head, knocking his glasses askew. He corrected them quickly and ruffled his hair. Ron, Hermione, and, thankfully, Malfoy had left a couple of hours ago and Severus had spent the latter part of the day trying to recover the calming draught he’d been brewing from it’s precariously long brewing time.

 

Harry had used the time to hunt down Howard, who had managed to scurry away and hide in the cupboard under the sink. The small Pygmy Puff was now snoring peacefully in his cage.

 

Now, in the dim light of the bedroom, standing alone, Harry had a chance to properly think about what had happened. He held the shirt in his hands, remaining still as he thought through the day: waking up and feeling pretty good then what Malfoy had shown them, his panic attack, the hours of discussions with his friends about how to approach it all (in which Mafloy seemed to have decided he was now a part of it all). He couldn’t even remember if he’d eaten at all. He was exhausted.

 

He dropped the shirt onto the bedroom chair just as Severus entered the room. The older wizard paused in the doorway. His eyes skimmed over Harry and then rested on his bare chest. Harry felt a touch of self-consciousness seeping through him and wished he’d kept his shirt – he was cognisant of the weight he’d lost and, though they’d been sleeping together, it had been a while since he’d been shirtless in the light.

 

“Hey,” Harry said in a hushed tone. He crossed his arms over his chest.

 

Severus stalked towards him, saying nothing but forsaking his robe on the floor, and pulled his arms down. Harry gulped and let out a shaky breath, hyperaware of Severus’ form beside him. A pale, long-fingered hand came to rest on his chest, just over his heart.

 

Harry looked up into Severus’ eyes, which were fixed on Harry’s face. His chest heaved as the hand trailed down his torso and he had to close his eyes. He had longed for this intimacy for days and he wanted to savour it.

 

He felt Severus step closer and the hand retraced the path it had taken; this time a thumb glided over Harry’s nipple and he moaned, “Severus…”

 

Harry raised his own hands and opened his eyes, finding the buttons on Severus’ shirt. He ran his finger down the line of buttons before popping them open, one by one.

 

When the pale skin underneath was finally revealed he leaned in and pressed open mouth kisses along Severus’ collarbone. A hand came up to the back of his head and pulled gently back tipping his face slightly upwards.

 

“Harry,” Severus murmured before pulling his head forward and kissing him soundly. It was slow and sensual and Harry let Severus pull him deeper and deeper. They broke apart, briefly, and Severus whispered, “You always taste of strawberries. Your magic feels of it, even bound as it is, and you taste of it - everywhere.”

 

“Strawberries?” Harry murmured against his lips

 

“Hmm, let me taste it more,” Severus replied and walked towards the bed, kissing Harry as they went.

 

Harry fell back onto the bed, pulling Severus on top of him and breathing hard though his nose. Severus moved to kiss up Harry’s jaw to his earlobe, removing his glasses at the same time.

 

Harry pushed up his hips, “Merlin, wanted this; need it; need you. Feels like forever. Please-“

 

“Yes,” Severus whispered and moved back so Harry could push his shirt off his shoulders. He pulled on Harry’s jeans and then helped Harry to unfasten his belt and trousers as Harry kicked his own off onto the floor.

 

He rolled Harry on top of him, pulling him up so the younger man could straddle his hips. He was hard against Harry’s thigh and they rocked together, Harry kissing and nipping around Severus’ neck and jawline, around his eyes and cheeks but not quite his lips.

 

Severus’ hand worked its way into Harry’s boxers and round to the cleft of his cheeks. He found his entrance with his fingers and teased as Harry moaned into the crook of his neck.

 

He kissed Severus fully on the mouth, opening his mouth to him as Severus breeched him with a finger. He continued to kiss and rock as Severus slowly worked him open. They took their time; they had plenty of it.

 

When he was ready, Harry lifted up so Severus could remove his trousers completely as Harry divested himself of his underwear. He crawled back into place on top of Severus’ hips and the guided themselves together.

 

Harry braced a hand on Severus chest, allowing them both to calm and settle and just _feel_ each other. The treacle sensation of Severus’ magic rolled over him and Harry closed his eyes and laughed softly. Then strong hands with long fingers gripped his hips, encouraging him to move.

 

Harry leaned over and brought his forehead to rest on Severus’. Severus bent his knees up, keeping them close together and he thrust and Harry rocked and moved up and down.

 

“Mmm, strawberries,” Severus whispered, “everywhere…”

 

The friction and the magic he could feel from Severus quickly worked Harry near to climax quicker than he’d wanted but Severus seemed to be there with him. They kissed fiercely; loosing the calm, slow pace they’d kept at first. Harry felt Severus touch him; pulling firmly but gently and he rode Severus through the climax the longed-for touch wrought from him. He felt Severus stiffen beneath him and then warmth within him as the other man came, with a moan into Harry’s mouth as they continued to kiss.

 

Harry fell - limp and sated - on top of Severus’ chest; heedless of the mess between them. They lay, catching their breath until Severus gently kissed Harry’s forehead. Harry didn’t want to move but felt Severus’ soften within him and he slipped off to the side, keeping his head in the crook of the other man’s shoulder.

 

He rested his hand on Severus’ chest, feeling the heart beating beneath it and Severus’ arm held him close into his side.

 

Right then, lying in the dimly lit bedroom, saying nothing, and holding each other close, Harry was filled with such a sense of peace and love, that he was almost sure he could tackle whatever the world threw at him.


	20. Jumping to Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Harry glowered darkly at his partner from his stool on the opposite side of the laboratory workbench. Having not been willing to leave the house at all for the past week for fear of reporters, Harry had been going a little stir-crazy.' 
> 
> Harry and Severus come to an interesting conclusion after their cottage life is disrupted again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I hope this chapter is all right. It was hard to write as believable!  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome!  
> C.O.

Harry glowered darkly at his partner from his stool on the opposite side of the laboratory workbench. Having not been willing to leave the house at all for the past week for fear of reporters, Harry had been going a little stir-crazy. He’d had far too much time to ruminate over the revelation of his mental illness to the world and the response of witches and wizards to it. Draco had taken to forwarding his copies of the _Daily Prophet_ to the cottage so Harry was able to read all the articles and letters printed about him. Harry didn’t believe Draco’s intentions were entirely altruistic.

 

It did not help his mood at all. Most responses were of ignorant fear and generally stank of prejudice. Severus had told him to ‘stop reading the damn things’ and had taken to burning the newspapers if he reached them first.

 

Their sex life had taken a turn for the better after the article was released but Severus insisted on working most of the day on his recent commissions. With so much time spare time spent in the confined space of the cottage (which had certainly been big enough for two people and a Pygmy Puff a week a go) he’d started to watch Severus brew his potions for work most of the day. It was generally quite interesting and educational to watch, even though he could hear Ron’s outrage at such a suggestion. But today, Harry had his reservations.

 

“I don’t like it.”

 

Severus continued to work and replied blithely, “I am not asking you to do so.”

 

Harry pursed his lips, unintentionally doing a very good impression of Hermione, and stayed quiet: for all of fifteen seconds.

 

“Well, I don’t!”

 

Severus growled in frustration.

 

“What about my brewing of a Suggerus Potion for a private client who is willing to pay me a month’s salary is not to your taste?” Severus asked archly.

 

“It’s not ethical, Severus! I can’t believe you agreed to brew it in the first place. I read about it after you told me because I’d never heard of it,” Harry picked up a heavy tomb he’d borrowed from Hermione (all of his own having been destroyed) from the table and started to flick through it. When he got to the page he started to read aloud, “’The Suggerus Potion is mainly used as a tool to enable the brewer to enhance or insert thoughts into the minds of others. Its inventor and original purpose are unknown. It had fallen out of use due to the difficulties in brewing it.  The effect can be enhanced properties when mixed with spell casting or other substances. The intended target’s hair, saliva, or skin must been added to the potion for it to be effective. The brewer ingests the substance and casts the effect onto their target. There is speculation over how much control the brewer can exert and any possible side-effects as many accounts of its usage have been destroyed.’”

 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Yes, as I have read. It merely opens people’s minds to suggestion, Harry. People do not have to do what is suggested to them or believe what is there. I have brewed far more complex and dangerous substances and you have never blinked an eye.”

 

“But this is the _Imperius_ Curse in potion form!” Harry shouted. He was angry and hurt that Severus would agree to brew something that allowed someone to control another person or make him or her believe whatever the brewer wanted. He’d been questioning his thoughts of what was real and what wasn’t and having hallucinations for…

 

Harry froze. The book fell from his lifeless fingers onto the floor.

 

“Harry, please, I am trying to concentrate on this for my client in London. This is very volatile and he’s expecting me to deliver it today. I had missed-“

 

“Wait,” Harry interrupted suddenly. “He wants it today?”

 

“Yes,” Severus replied impatiently. His eyebrow rose and his expression urged Harry to get to the point.

 

“When did you first make the potion for this client?”

 

Severus frowned and went to the ledger on the workbench. He flipped back a few pages and then stopped.

 

“March,” Severus said.

 

“And the client’s name?”

 

”I have an agreement with my customers to be discreet. Not all of the potions they commission are strictly… legal.”

 

Harry let the blatant admission of law-breaking pass by (after all, he was sitting in the room whilst Severus brewed a highly illegal substance and had known for a while about some of the potions he’d made) and looked at the other man intensely. “It’s important, Severus. What’s his name?”

 

Severus gave him a puzzled look, as he turned down the heat under his cauldron.

 

“Stefan Castillo,” he replied, “why?”

 

Harry ignored the question and stood abruptly. “And this is the client who asked for the Mopsus potion you had to deliver by hand? He’s your only client who gets you to deliver by hand but orders by owl?”

 

Severus huffed out an exasperated sigh and turned to face Harry straight on, crossing his arms, “Yes, Harry. What, exactly, is your point?”

 

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry breathed. He ran both hands through his hair and began to pace back and forth, muttering to himself, “Buggering… March is when I met him. And the champagne glasses... And you were away for a month when I was in hospital and it had all but stopped.”

 

Severus watched him nervously, “Harry you’re not making sense. What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

 

Harry stopped immediately and gave him an unbelieving look. “Don’t you see? We’ve been set up! It’s been him - Steven, Stefan whatever the hell you want to call him!” Harry cried and then paused, “But he’s not magical. He can’t be. We’d know…”

 

He bit his lower lip and stared at Severus, a look of terror flashing in the emerald eyes. “We have to go, Severus. Now.”

 

“What? No, not until you tell me what’s going on!” Severus exclaimed. “And the potion is at a pivotal point in the brewing process, I cannot leave it now or-“

 

“It doesn’t bloody well matter about the fucking potion!” Harry shouted and grabbed the sleeve of Severus’ robe, pulling him roughly towards the steps out of the cellar. “If I’m right a bunch of Aurors is likely to burst through our front door any minute now and-“

 

A loud crash from up the stairs stopped Harry in his tracks. “Shit.”

 

“Spread out; in pairs, everyone!” The order was shouted by the all-too-familiar voice of Zephyr Proudfoot, “These two are dangerous enough individually, let alone together!”

 

Harry and Severus’ eyes met in a panicked glance.

 

“They’ll have someone setting up anti-apparition wards now,” Harry said, familiar with the processes of raid after his immediate post-war experience and from Ron’s stories. “We need to get out of here now.”

 

Severus moved quickly towards his desk and started rummaging through the drawers.

 

“Damn, damn, damn,” he murmured hurriedly. “Where is it? Ah, ha!”

 

Harry stared at him, thinking that perhaps Severus had joined him in insanity, as Severus held aloft an old, long, spotty sock. Then it dawned on him.

 

“An emergency Portkey!” He rushed to his lover in joy, wanting to kiss him. “You’re a bloody genius!”

 

“I know,” Severus agreed, and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Albus gave us all one years ago and I never required use of it. Until now.”

 

“Where does it go?” Harry asked as a banging began on the cellar door. The locking and warding charms Harry had thought were unnecessary against their small pet were holding for now. Not for much longer, Harry thought.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

Harry paused, shrugged, and grabbed hold of the miraculous stocking.

 

“ _Portus_ ,” Severus said, just as the door smashed in under the force of a fireball.

 

The troop of Aurors that burst in through the door was greeted by a room devoid of Wizards and the explosion of a volatile potion.

 

*******

 

Severus and Harry landed in the middle of a clearing. Severus had managed to remain standing as Harry thumped to the forest floor with an ‘oomph’.

 

Harry scrambled to his feet as Severus stowed the used Portkey into his robes.

 

“Urgh,” Harry groaned, shaking his head to clear it, “Never get used to that…”

 

Saying nothing, Severus grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him into the trees, walking quickly.

 

“What are you doing? We don’t know where we are!” Harry said, frantically, “And you’re walking into a random wood where-“

 

“I know where we are,” Severus said impatiently, pulling Harry up to walk beside him, “Albus Dumbledore’s father was sent to Azkaban, you know this?” Harry nodded, apparently saving his breath for keeping up with Severus’ longer stride, “Before this, Albus and his family lived in a small village in Gloucestershire. He told me once about how he’d returned to the place only once – to ensure the Order had a further safe house. It has been so many years since Albus has been associated with this village that we are unlikely to be found.”

 

Harry looked at him confused, as he jogged to keep up. “Why not Portkey straight into the house? How will we know when we get there?”

 

“In case the Portkey was activated by someone it was not meant for,” Severus replied, slowing slightly as they came to the edge of the woods, “And we will know.”

 

There were lights in the near distance and Severus heard Harry sigh gratefully beside him. The months of relative inactivity and reduced food intake had left the younger man less able to endure long periods of exercise. But Harry didn’t complain.

 

“Right, so, um,” Harry said beside him, “Is this a wizard village or Muggle? It’s just your robes might be a bit much.”

 

He was right. Severus quickly took off his outer robe as they walked and draped it over his arm like he would a coat. It was unfortunately rather cold as they walked with the beginnings of a winter chill being drafted in on the back of autumn. Harry was not much better of than Severus in his shirt and trousers. He’d worn a short-sleeved t-shirt without a jumper, as he’d not left the warmth of the cottage for days. They were lucky he’d put some shoes on to come to the lab, really. The silver bands glowed on his wrists as Harry wrapped his arms around himself.

 

“Come here,” Severus muttered and pulled Harry closer to him, wrapping am arm around his shoulders, “We should at least try not to die of hypothermia before we get there.”

 

“We’ll draw attention to ourselves if the Muggles see us walking like this,” Harry said but still snuggled closer to Severus’ side, “Same-sex relationships are viewed about the same in most Muggle places.”

 

“To be honest, I just want us to get inside so you can tell me what in Merlin’s name is going on,” Severus grumbled.

 

“Couldn’t you conjure coats? Or transfigure your robe?”

 

“Magic can be traced if people are desperate enough. Not like the underage tracking but unusual magical activity in a Muggle area might raise suspicion,” Severus replied, though wished he’d thought to wear an undershirt at least.

 

They trampled over the ground between the forest and the village and only separated when they got to one of the main roads. Severus imagined it had looked different in Dumbledore’s day over a hundred years ago.   It was still picturesque but cars lined a fair amount of the pavements in the residential areas and as they passed into the centre of the village, Severus could see the electric lights from signs and traffic lights. A gang of youths was hanging about a fountain near to the village pub and watching them avidly, likely because of their relative undress in the October weather but he was glad Harry had suggested they not walk too close. He didn’t want to draw more attention than they already had.

 

Abruptly, Harry stopped. Severus looked at him and then followed his gaze to small, nondescript house on the other side of the village green. There was nothing in particular that would draw most people to the house but he suspected Harry could sense something about the place. It only took a few steps towards the house for Severus to feel it too. This was it.

 

They walked up to the gate, trying to look as casual as possible. Severus cast a subtle eye back to the gang and also at all the other locals walking about, but they all seemed to have stopped watching them. The name on the gate made Severus snort.

 

_Phoenix Landing_

 

Damnable old man had never truly learned the art of subtlety.  

 

Nevertheless, he’d provided them with a safe house. Severus wanted to find out what Harry had been ranting about and why the Aurors chose today to raid their house unannounced. He wondered if the inevitable explosion that must have happened after their emergency departure had destroyed his ledger. But it wasn’t just the evidence of his less-than-legal brewing that he had to worry about. Harry was being hunted as well and Zephyr Proudfoot had seemed to know Harry would be at the cottage when they arrived.

 

The door to the safe house had a simple Muggle locking system. Severus was sceptical of such lax security measures and his fears were not allayed as the door swung open easily with a muttered ‘ _Alohamora_ ’.

 

Harry, sensibly, stayed back as Severus lit up his wand and shone a light into the dark entrance of the house. The light of his wand showed him nothing untoward and he flicked on the light switch he’d seen in a sweep of his wand.

 

The inside was quaint and slightly old-fashioned and as picturesque as the village itself had seemed. To the left of the entrance hall was the living room, filled with chintzy chairs and doilies.   Harry poked suspiciously at one of the chairs and Severus had to wonder what on earth he was thinking about. They explored the cottage together and Severus performed a number of revealing spells as they went, aiming to expose anything troublesome. The house was oddly clean and free of dust and Harry pointed out that someone must have been paying for the electricity and gas supply for years since Dumbledore’s death.

 

All rooms were clear of traps or bugging devices, it seemed, and by the time they returned to the living room Severus had decided that all of it was distinctly Muggle and that Albus Dumbledore was even madder than he’d appeared. What kind of safe house was this? How could this be remotely safe?

 

“The Ministry probably won’t think to look at somewhere so ordinary and where the bills are up to date,” Harry commented, sitting on the sofa, as far as possible from the chair he’d examined. “We’ll have to go to the shops for food and tea, though,” he continued, “And clothes, I suppose.”

 

Severus said nothing but moved to the window, peeking out from the curtains. The ordinariness of the village and house and people unsettled him for some reason. Or possibly because they’d just been chased from their home by a rampant group of Aurors?

 

“How long do you reckon we can stay?” Harry asked quietly from behind him.

 

“I do not know,” Severus said shortly, still watching the village locals, “Not long.”

 

“What about contacting people? Ron and Hermione will be worried if they try to go over to the cottage. Do you think we can-“

 

“I do not _know_ , Harry!” Severus snapped, spinning around and glaring.

 

Harry was immediately silent. He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded.

 

“Fine,” he said, curtly but quietly, “Let’s talk about why we’re here then, rather than the logistics.”

 

Severus could hear and see the suppressed hurt in Harry’s voice and face. He gritted his teeth and sighed, “Harry-“

 

“No,” Harry interrupted, “We need to talk about why Steven Castle wanted you arrested and why he was trying to convince me I was more unwell than I am.”

 

“Who is Steven Castle?”

 

Harry huffed and stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s Gary’s boyfriend. But if I’m right he’s also your London client - Castillo. Can’t say I give him marks for naming creativity,” Harry replied sarcastically, “We thought he was a Muggle but if it’s how I think it is, he can’t be.”

 

“How did you jump to this obscure conclusion?” Severus asked, leaning on the back of one of the armchairs and mimicking Harry’s closed posture. Harry scowled.

 

“It’s only a theory but I think it holds together. You’ve been brewing Castillo that Suggerus potion since March – something I _will_ be talking to you more about later, focussing heavily on the moral and legal implications. I first met Steven in March at Hermione’s dinner party. He seemed nice but a bit stare-y and asked a lot of questions. Then, when we were at dinner that night at Larry’s restaurant he and Gary came into the restaurant,” Harry frowned, “I don’t know if that was co-incidence or not but the next day there was a report on the radio of the dishwasher having been killed. I started looking into it.”

 

“You did not tell me this!” Severus stood straight immediately.

 

“We’d slept together once at the time, Severus,” Harry waved him off, “It was just a suspicion I had and I think I’m right. The book says a sample from the target is needed. Unwashed champagne glasses were stolen. I think he was looking for mine. I started seeing things that weren’t like… like the flashbacks that day. I think he wanted the Suggerus potion for me, Severus. I think… that might be why I’ve seen all those people.”

 

Harry averted his gaze and began worrying his thumbnail.

 

Severus watched him, dread filling him from the feet up. He couldn’t be responsible for Harry’s torment, could he? He shook his head. “Surely they checked for such things as curses or spells when you were admitted to St. Mungo’s?”

 

Harry shrugged and replied, “Dunno, I was unconscious for a bit but I think they wanted me properly patched up at first so might not have noticed anything except the wounds. I wouldn’t let them do checks or anything after that.” He sighed and continued biting his nail before saying, “It wasn’t the hallucinations on their own that drove me to that, Severus. It was everything. They didn’t help but...”

 

Severus watched him, desperately wanting to touch him, comfort him, but wary of their brief argument.

 

“I don’t know if Steven wants me dead or just locked away and discredited. As for you… I’m not sure. I do think he told the Aurors about your brewing. He’s likely how they found your address the first time, too. We’re both not exactly in the running for Most Popular Wizard award so could be a target for lots of people,” Harry pondered, “But now that I think about it, it all seems too much to be a coincidence. Except I don’t know of a ‘Castle’ family being involved in the Death Eater trials, which is the most obvious reason, and we never knew of someone of that name at Hogwarts, as far as I can tell. He’s only a few years older than me, Ron and Hermione, I think. I can’t think how he knew we’d get together, though. Do… do you think he’s why we met?”

 

The idea horrified Severus. To think he might only have met and been with Harry because of the machinations of some unstable wizard with a grudge made everything they had feel… wrong. But, Harry and Severus had never shown any sign of possibly having a romantic relationship prior to April – no one could have predicted it. Had they been magically manipulated? Did they even really have feelings for each other?

 

The same thought seemed to have crossed Harry’s mind, as his face took on a despairing mien and he was watching Severus anxiously.

 

“I would think any spell to influence our feelings would not have lasted so long when we were apart,” Severus tried to reassure him, though he still felt disconcerted.

 

Harry nodded but his shoulders slumped. He looked away towards the window, staring unseeingly at the curtains, and wrapped his arms around himself. Severus watched him silently, staying very, very still.

 

“I don’t want this to not be real,” said Harry very quietly, his voice unusually hoarse. He turned to look at Severus and there was a gleam of tears in his eyes. “What I feel for you… It… It _has_ to be real.”

 

Severus inhaled sharply, Harry’s words striking the weakness if his own thoughts within him, and stepped abruptly towards Harry, who was now rubbing his eyes furiously. He caught Harry’s hands in his own, pulling them to his chest.

 

“Whatever the reason for us meeting again, Harry,” he said softly and kissed the knuckles of his lover’s hands, “It has nothing to do with how I feel for you now. I am sure of it.

 

“My heart,” he continued, laying Harry’s palm over his chest, “Belongs to you now. I cannot conceive of anything that would change that fact.”

 

Harry let out a shuddering breath and curled his fingers around Severus other hand. He brought it to rest over his own heartbeat, holding it gently in place. They stood in the quiet living room, maintaining the same position for a few moments, simply appreciating the other’s presence and feeling the life beating within them.

 

“You have reduced me to tragic sentimentality, Potter,” Severus teased and squeezed Harry’s hand before letting go, “And distracted me from the issues at hand.”

 

“Distracting you is what I’m good at,” Harry replied. The words were playful though his voice was quiet and he still looked sad, unsure. He breathed in deeply and exhaled before speaking, “But we probably do need to plan before I do it any more. I want to be able to distract you without worrying about a Ministry task force bursting in.”

 

********

 

A tree creaked outside the window and it’s branches scraped the glass like a cat scratching at the door. The darkness had not taken long to set in around the house as Severus and Harry discussed Harry’s theory (which Severus was coming to support more and more) in the living room. Harry had suggested starting a fire as the cold started to sneak through the small cottage. Severus had initially protested, arguing that they were trying not to draw attention to themselves when the lamps turned on by themselves.

 

After firmly establishing that Harry’s Magic Binders were, indeed, still working, Harry had identified that the lamps were set to an electric timer. He’d suggested to Severus that a seemingly constantly empty and dark house was likely to draw attention from the local Muggles after a while and that the timers were often used by holidaying residents to deter any thieves. Severus admonished himself for not realising this or considering it on his own. To be fair, he’d not realised Muggles these days had come up with such ingenious devices that mimicked magic. He’d not lived fully in the Muggle world for many years.

 

Harry had grumbled something about how ‘central heating’ would be nice and started a fire and began to explore the house more thoroughly.

 

Severus managed to find some soup tins, heating the contents on the stove without magic, and they’d sat together in front of the hearth, Harry on the floor at Severus’ feet, watching the dancing flames in silence as they ate. The only noises in the room came from the pops and crackles of the fire and the sound of spoons on crockery.

 

It was nothing like the comfortable quietness they had come to appreciate during their nights in together at the cottage in Upper Flagley. It was clear that the possibility that their relationship was based on the Machiavellian machinations of a possible madman was weighing heavily on both of them, despite Severus’ attempts at reassurance.

 

“There’s no phone,” Harry said about five minutes after he’d finished his soup. Severus had been observing him stare into the fire and admiring the way the orange and gold light flickered over his sharp, handsome features of the still too-thin face and glimmered off the lenses in his spectacles. About two days’ worth of stubble lined Harry’s jaw, which was set in a hard line of studious contemplation. The sudden disruption of the silence and stillness startled Severus out of his examination of his lover.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“There’s no telephone,” Harry repeated, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb as he continued, “The fireplace obviously isn’t connected to the Floo network, either. There are no owl offices here.”

 

Severus nodded, having noted the latter two of Harry’s observations as well, and then realised Harry couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he replied quietly. He was impressed with Harry’s observation and deduction skills. He’d have been a great asset to the Auror department. Not that they deserved him at all.

 

“I was going to phone Hermione,” Harry said, “Let her and Ron know we were okay. She could let Draco know if you wanted. She might be able to help us if we can’t think of what to do.”

 

There was a momentary pause and Harry rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Why is he punishing us like this?” he asked, his voice so soft Severus might have missed it had he not been so intent on the younger man. “Why can’t we just be happy? Or at least try to be?”

 

He sounded as though all the hope and fight had drained from him over the last few hours. It had been an eventful day, full of physical action as well as emotional upheaval.

 

Severus hesitated and then reached down slowly and cupped Harry’s neck and the back of his head, massaging and caressing the tense muscle beneath and savouring the feel of the thick hair against the pad of his thumb. Harry sighed and leaned into Severus leg, allowing his head to rest on the other man’s knee, eyes still trained on the hypnotic flickering of the flames.

 

“I think there was a telephone box in the village,” Severus offered as Harry’s neck and shoulder relaxed under his ministrations.

 

“I’ll go down tomorrow,” Harry said, voice thick with sleep. Severus continued to press his fingers into Harry’s skin and the other man let out a soft mewl of contentment.

 

Before he fell asleep entirely, Severus squeezed his shoulder and nudged him to sit up again before pulling him into a standing position.

 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked and yawned, but allowed himself to be guided to the stairs.

 

“Bed,” Severus murmured softly, watching Harry’s eyes drift closed even as they walked. Harry hummed in agreement and Severus conducted them to the main bedroom, which was decorated in a style more suited to an elderly spinster.

 

Harry had swayed gently with exhaustion as Severus undressed him and then, after he’d disrobed, led him to the bed.

 

And the tree continued to scratch the window and the house creaked around them as they lay, Harry’s back to Severus’ chest and legs entangled. Harry’s fingers intertwined themselves with Severus’ own and then his breathing evened out into a deep, sleepy cadence.

 

Severus closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off into sleep, matching Harry’s breaths subconsciously. His last coherent thought was of Harry’s eyes, filled with tears and uncertainty, and how much he wanted all the feelings to be real too.


	21. On the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'That afternoon, they met Hermione at a secluded greasy spoon in South Devon where they sat at a table away from the window but allowed Harry and Severus to keep watch on the comings and goings of the patrons.' 
> 
> Harry and Severus have to cope with being pursued by the Ministry and their new enemy at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
> Many thanks for continuing to read. We're getting close to the end. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Comments always welcome! Constructive criticism is very useful.  
> C.O.

They’d marched down to the phone box early the next morning, Harry stomping his way a few feet in front of Severus. He’d wanted to go on his own, arguing that sticking together just gave the people looking for them an easier target out in the open. Severus had vetoed his reasoning, claiming that with Harry’s magic being bound, he would be unable to properly protect himself if he were to be found. He’d tried to convince Harry to get rid of the bands but went unheeded apart from a scathing laugh and Harry shaking his head as he walked off. Harry hadn’t explicitly relented to Severus’ insistence on accompanying him into the village but left the door open as he indignantly exited the cottage.

 

He was still in a bad mood as he as the dialled Hermione and Ron’s phone number, punching the buttons harder than was strictly necessary. Severus hovered outside, watching for any suspicious-looking passers-by or signs that they were being watched, and listening in as much as he could.

 

Hermione had been frantic when she’d heard his voice and had asked so many questions so quickly that Harry had to shout to interrupt her so he wouldn’t run out of Muggle change and have to end the phone call prematurely. Arthur Weasley had heard about the raid on the cottage and had informed his family immediately. Apparently, they’d been looking all over for the two of them and Harry felt his insides grow a little warm with the thought of their support. She reassured him that Kinglsey, who hadn’t been involved in or even told about the raid, had managed to retrieve Howard in the aftermath and the Pygmy Puff was now back in the study with Iris and Pig.

 

The cellar, it seemed, had been almost entirely destroyed in the cauldron explosion, leaving little evidence of any illicit activity, though they couldn’t be totally sure and the Aurors were still searching the rest of the house. Severus had seemed somewhat relieved when Harry had relayed the news and Harry had begun to relax and wonder if they’d be able to go home after all.

 

His relief had been extremely short-lived, however, as Hermione told him the Ministry wanted to question him about his magic and W.A.D.E. members were making their usual demands for ‘answers’ and action. He had supposed he wasn’t surprised at that, as he’d thought of that already himself, but he suspected that Severus would still want to keep them moving to avoid such a confrontation. And they still had Steven to worry about.

 

When he’d told Hermione his theory about Steven and the hallucinations, including how it was done with some reference to his research and the missing champagne glasses, Hermione became ominously silent.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling the anxiety rise within him. He knew she’d be worried about Gary but there seemed to be another undercurrent to her disquiet. He could practically hear her biting her lip.

 

“One of my wine glasses is missing,” Hermione told him quietly after a few seconds’ pause.

 

He almost dropped the receiver.

 

“W-what?” he gasped and Severus was at his side in a flash, “W-when?”

 

He knew it was a stupid question but his mind was stuck in a loop, Hermione’s words and their implication coming around again and again and again.

 

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” said Hermione, quickly and desperately, “I didn’t think anything of it. I thought Ron might have broken it and just not wanted to tell me. But he denied it when I asked and said he’d just have repaired it if that were the case. I thought it would turn up eventually.”

 

Harry leaned forward and his forehead banged off the glass of the old-fashioned telephone box. The telephone receiver was plucked from his finger and he let his hand drop, keeping his head resting against the cool glass and closing his eyes.

 

“Tell me,” Severus demanded curtly, without introduction. He was silent as Hermione, presumably, repeated what she’d told Harry. Her voice was a tinny echo on from the earpiece and Harry tried to block it out entirely.

 

He didn’t want to think about the implications of what she’d just revealed. He vaguely registered Severus’ displeased voice in the background and knew the other man was trying desperately to maintain the hold on his temper. It wasn’t really Hermione’s fault. Harry suspected the anger was mostly directed towards Severus himself.

 

He felt his breathing even out as his panic faded into the background and heard the tail end of the phone conversation. His forehead remained

 

“Indeed,” Severus ground out between gritted teeth, “I would not expect them to give up so easily. That would be acceptable, I believe.”

 

Severus hung up the receiver without a ‘goodbye'. He stalked away from the telephone box, back ramrod straight and shoulders set in a stiff line, and Harry gave himself a shake before jogging after the older man. When they were side-by-side, Harry glanced at the stormy expression on Severus’ face.

 

“She told you about the wine glass?” Harry half-asked, half-noted and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

 

“She told me about the wine glass,” Severus confirmed, his face darkening. His right eye was twitching a little and Harry recognised the signs of one of Severus’ pending outbursts. He knew well enough by now to stay quiet or face a diatribe filled with all the feelings Severus usually barricaded behind his Occlumency shields.

 

He tried to remind himself that Severus wasn’t angry with him but couldn’t help feeling cut off by the other man’s silent fury. They walked beside each other, Severus quietly but visibly fuming and Harry trying to think of a way to ask what had been agreed upon between Severus and Hermione without sending the other man into a blaze.

 

Eventually, Harry suggested stopping to buy some supplies at the local corner shop and Severus sneered.

 

“We are not staying,” he said and increased his pace so that Harry had to keep up a consistent jog to keep up.

 

When they were safely back in the cottage, Severus strode to the kitchen and began to search the cupboards. Harry watched from the door way as the other man banged and slammed the doors in his search for something Harry could only guess was liquor.

 

“Severus,” he said firmly, “Stop.”

 

He was ignored and Severus continued to rummage further back into the storage space, without speaking a word.

 

Harry tramped towards him; slamming the cupboard door he was about to open with a forceful push and glaring up at the taller man, patience finally at an end.

 

“What’s got your knickers in such a twist?” Harry demanded, “If you’re feeling guilty: don’t. It’s done; we’ll deal with it. It’s likely I’m going to start seeing things again soon and I need you to be able to bloody well deal with it better than I will but you’ll only do that if you’re not drunk. You were the one promoting ‘togetherness and partnership’ last night.”

 

He paused, gently tugging Severus around to face him properly. “Please, Sev,” he whispered, “Tell me or don’t but whatever we do we need to deal together or we’ll both go mad.”

 

Severus’ jaw clenched and unclenched several times as he surveyed Harry’s face. He said nothing and Harry was about to give up, releasing his hold on the other man’s arm and turning away, when Severus pulled him back. The older man was quiet for another minute or so but Harry waited.

 

“We need to move as soon as possible,” Severus eventually admitted, “Granger suspects they’ll notice the unregistered Portkey. They have warrants for us based on resistance of arrest and the explosion as well as the issue of your magical control and failure to report as such to the Ministry. I believe we would be wise to leave today. Granger has agreed to meet us to find a safe place to stay. We are to Apparate to her today.”

 

Harry stood, watching Severus and thinking quietly for a few moments about this information before he spoke, “Where’s safe? I’m going to be influenced by the Suggerus Potion at an unknown time, which I’m fucking terrified about by the way, and we’re quite recognisable these days, I’m afraid.” He hesitated over his next thought, expecting what the response would be but needing to suggest it anyway. Having heard about the warrants and the searches, it seemed that Severus would probably be under lesser charges than him, especially if there was no existing evidence of his illegal brewing. He did not want Severus to suffer or be put under strain because of him

 

“Maybe… maybe we should-“

 

“Do not,” Severus growled, eyes narrowing dangerous, “finish that sentence if there is any mention of splitting up or turning yourself in.”

 

Harry swallowed and nodded and then, when he’d managed to gather his thoughts, “As long as you stop feeling guilty for brewing the potion. As much as I hate the idea of the potion in general, you didn’t know how it would be used.”

 

Severus’ expression turned to a mix of confusion and reverence. “I cannot ask you to forgive me for this transgression.”

 

“You’re not asking,” Harry said softly, holding Severus’ dark gaze with regenerated courage, “I’m forgiving you anyway.”

 

*******

 

That afternoon, they met Hermione at a secluded greasy spoon in South Devon where they sat at a table away from the window but allowed Harry and Severus to keep watch on the comings and goings of the patrons. It was all very intrepid and Harry was reminded of the Le Carre novel Hermione had given him for his birthday two years ago. He felt a small well of sadness at the thought of all his books and other belongings destroyed so many months ago in his outburst of magic. The bands reverberated, reassuring but, at the same time, stifling, on his wrists.

 

Hermione produced a stack of parchment and placed it carefully on the tarnished metal tabletop before sliding it towards Harry and Severus. If the rest of the pages were similar to the first, Harry was in for a lot of reading unless Hermione was willing to summarise for him. He wondered when she’d have time to do all this work. Severus gathered the parchment and stowed it into a bag Harry hadn’t noticed before.

 

“I’ve been researching the potion you told me about. I’ll summarise,” Hermione said, clearly picking up on Harry’s initial dismay at the amount of information, and nonchalantly sipped her cup of tea. Harry wondered, yet again, why she hadn’t gone into the Aurors – her investigative and undercover skills would have her at the top within no time. “The accounts tend to die out after about 1973, and they’re pretty sparse for about a decade leading up to that. Most of it you already know but within some reports there have been anecdotes of modification in conjunction with various spells… ”

 

She trailed off and Harry fixed her with an unwavering gaze. “Meaning?”

 

“A Trace,” Severus answered, “He can use the sample from the wine glass to track you.”

 

It slammed into Harry like a wall. Everything seemed to stop and had the regular ticking of the café’s clock not continued steadily he’d have been convinced time had frozen too. He’d thought it couldn’t get much worse. He should have known by now that it could _always_ get worse.

 

“Well,” Harry said, quietly, “Well…”

 

Severus and Hermione watched him nervously for a few seconds and then Hermione spoke. “It looks like he can only track you to one location at a time, though and it takes time. It won’t be able to follow you as you move.”

 

Harry just nodded. Severus’ hand twitched on the table but didn’t move to take Harry’s.

 

“Have you heard from Gary?” Harry asked Hermione.

 

Hermione’s face fell further and she shook her head. “I tried phoning him after I spoke to you. I’m going to try to pop round after this. I don’t want to worry his mum and dad until we know a bit more,” she said, “He and Steven weren’t living together which is somewhat reassuring but-“

 

“We don’t know how far Steven is willing to go if his plans start to unravel,” Harry finished for her.

 

Silence descended on the group once more. Harry’s thoughts had sped up to whirlwind speed, as though to compensate for the moments of complete inactivity. Steven had a sample from the wine glass, had been sending Harry hallucinations for months (though it was hard to separate them from his own thoughts at times), clearly had a vendetta against Harry and Severus, and could find Harry wherever he was. Brilliant.

 

“We should move,” Harry said suddenly and stood up, “Thanks, Hermione.”

 

“Wait,” she said, “Here are the spare keys to my parent’s house. They’re in Spain just now. You can stop in there if you need to.”

 

She held out a set of keys, which Severus took and stored in his trouser pocket. “Many thanks,” he said, “We shall consider it.”

 

They left the café, Hermione planning to go home to check in on Ron and Rose, and Harry and Severus headed towards an Apparition point.

 

“Wait,” Harry said and stopped suddenly, Severus gave him a questioning look. “We should get a train. It will keep us moving,” Harry continued. He pointed out a sign that pointed out the direction to the station and started to head that way.

 

It didn’t take Severus long to catch up with him, with his long-legged stride.

 

“We cannot stay on trains forever,” he said, “We need to have a plan. As good as Ms Granger’s notes may be we will need more than this to fully understand what Castle is capable of and to deduce his reasons for his actions. We’re liable to be spotted by someone who will report to the Ministry as well.”

 

Harry nodded in agreement, keeping his features as blank as possible. “I know,” he said, “but this is the best idea I have just now.”

 

*******

 

Being on the run was something Harry had hoped never to repeat.

 

Before he’d had to travel and search constantly for the remaining Horcruxes, Harry had thought he might like to travel for fun, maybe Europe or America. He’d never been on holiday, let alone outside of Britain, and it would be nice to see new places and cultures. After the war, he’d not had time or the inclination to do anything of the kind.

 

Now, he thought he might actually hate it.

 

“Come, Potter,” Severus snapped as he stomped up the path to their newest safe house, “Let’s get inside so I can cast the wards.”

 

It had been a week since they’d met with Hermione and they were tired, stressed, and unkempt from constantly being on the move. They’d been renting holiday cottages for a day at a time, under different pseudonyms, with converted money Hermione had managed to get to them from Harry’s vault. This made it a little more pleasant than his yearlong camping trip but not exactly luxury travel.  

 

Today, Severus looked more dishevelled than he’d ever looked in a dark, worn-looking wool coat they’d picked up in a charity shop near the Granger’s house. They’d each picked up a couple of changes of clothing and duffle bags. Harry pulled his own jacket – a blue parka – around himself and followed Severus to the door.

 

They’d decided that they needed to stop somewhere every night as Harry was having rather loud and disturbing nightmares when he managed to sleep and Stephen had started to send him a least a vision a day two days after they’d started travelling. He’d learned now that the hallucinations Steven sent to him were associated with a buzzing in his molars, which at least gave him some warning, and he tried to hide away from any other travellers until they passed, despite Severus asking him to stay. So far, he and Severus had stuck to the less populated routes on the trains to minimise the disturbance

 

Harry felt practically dead on his feet and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up for. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and Severus was running short on patience and energy as well. Harry felt guilty for having his lover suffer with him.

 

It was risky for them to stay put for too long but they needed to eat, shower, and rest. It wasn’t exactly the plan Harry had in mind when he thought about what he and Severus might do if they travelled together.  

 

Severus shut the door forcefully behind Harry and started to preform the warding spells immediately. Harry rolled his eyes and headed straight for what he presumed to be the living room. He dumped his coat on the back of an armchair and slumped into it. He was too tired to deal with Severus’ mood at that point. He knew he should be more tolerant but the situation wasn’t exactly paradise for Harry either. Severus had been snapping at him all day, telling him to eat his sandwich, to at least drink his tea, to just stick beside him when Steven was targeting him…

 

“I am going to make some dinner,” Severus’ voice came from the doorway. Harry grunted in response and closed his eyes. He heard a frustrated huffing sound from Severus but ignored it.

 

“Are you going to have a shower?” Severus was beginning to sound more and more impatient. Harry kept his eyes closed and shrugged.

 

The sound of Severus coming towards him caused his eyes to snap open. The older man was wound tight and his jaw was clenched. “Why are you being difficult?” he asked Harry, the words were terse and his voice was strained.

 

“I’m not,” replied Harry, curtly, “I’m just tired.”

 

“If you would eat something for once-“

 

“I’ve told you, I’m not hungry,” Harry interrupted him.

 

This was the wrong thing to say apparently, as Severus growled and his eyes flashed with anger and frustration and impatience. “Don’t lie,” he told Harry, “It doesn’t help when you lie. You’re just shutting me out. We’re in this together and-“

 

“But we don’t have to be, Severus,” Harry said and pushed himself out of the chair. His muscles ached but he stayed upright. He was too tired to hold his tongue any more. “It’s me that has the trace – you could stay in one place. Draco would have you. I don’t want to drag you about like this,” he said, desperation filling his voice, “You could get a decent sleep and meal.”

 

“Don’t be absurd,” Severus snapped, turning his back and stalking to the kitchen.

 

Harry followed him, close on his heels. “It’s not absurd, Severus,” he pleaded, “Please, you don’t have to go through this. I’m worried about you.”

 

Severus turned to face him, looking sad and exhausted and Harry felt his guilt wrack up a notch or ten. The mood in the room switched from frustration to weary desolation. “We agreed we would do this together until it was sorted out. You are unprotected with your magic bound. It is my job to look after you, Harry,” he said quietly, gently.

 

Something flicked on within Harry and he felt cold inside. “Your job?” he asked blankly.

 

“Do not start, Harry,” Severus said warningly, though he looked fatigued, “I don’t want a fight. You know what I meant. You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

 

“Obtuse?” Harry asked, waspishly, “It’s a bit difficult not to be a bit unsure when your mind is being manipulated every day and you can’t stop thinking the man you love is only with you because he feels obligated.”

 

“That is not-“

 

“But you’re not confident what we have together is totally free of outside influence, that’s right?” Harry asked snappily, “You feel guilty because you think this might all be because of your potion and when this is over everything we feel will disappear. And you do feel guilty.”

 

“I have told you,” Severus retorted, “That I will not leave you, that my heart is yours. This period of difficulty is taxing. If you would allow your magic to-“

 

”Now you’re being obtuse, Severus,” Harry replied, “I’ve told you, it’s too dangerous. But I can keep moving on my own. You could research with Hermione and I can keep going.”

 

“Your absolute refusal to even try your magic is what frustrates me most!” Severus yelled.

 

“I _am_ trying-“

 

“No!” Severus shouted and started to pace the kitchen. “You tried nothing! You wouldn’t try potions for your nightmares; you didn’t contact the doctor Granger found for you; you will not consider trying to unbind magic. You cannot possibly live with bound magic forever! No one knows the effects but I cannot imagine any good will come from it!”

 

Harry stood, silent, shoulders squared, and temper rising along with his despair. The Binders buzzed and hummed on his wrists. Severus continued.

 

“You are ignoring all of your problems, have told me no more of your feelings since that day in St. Mungo’s, and I _am trying_ to help and be patient but all I can see is you withdrawing and wasting away and it is worse than any torture I have ever endured.”

 

Severus stopped and faced Harry, who was shaking with fear. His mind had paused and he could only see the angry, miserable expression on Severus’ face. He was hurting someone he loved yet again. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do that. He felt his face drain of all colour and his heart beat furiously against his chest.

 

Severus was staring at him, awaiting a response; an answer; awaiting… reassurance?

 

Reassurance Harry could not give right then.

 

“I’m going out,” Harry said quietly and turned on his heel and practically jogged to the living room to retrieve his jacket.

 

“What?” Severus asked incredulously as he followed, “Don’t be an idiot.”

 

Harry ignored him, stepping around the taller man and heading back to the door. He pulled it open, feeling the magical signature of the wards around the entrance, as he stepped outside and walked down the path.

 

“Harry, stop!” Severus called from behind him. “You’re being a fool!”

 

“I’m a fucking fool then!” Harry shouted back. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be back before we need to catch the train.”

 

After reaching the gate he picked up his pace into a run and sped away, heedless of Severus calling his name.

 

*******

 

Severus hadn’t slept. He sat, staring at the clock on the mantelpiece as it tick-tick-ticked the seconds away.

 

He’d initially been angry, cursing Harry and considered just leaving the cottage to spite the other man. At midnight, his anger had started to fade to guilt. By four in the morning his guilt had been overwhelmed by worry. Now, at eight, an hour after their train had been due to leave, he was filled with dread and panic and nausea.

 

He stood and went to peer out of the blinds for what felt like the thousandth time since his anger had faded. Severus swatted the blinds closed with unnecessary force and swirled around.

 

He should have gone after him. He should have held the door closed. He shouldn’t have shouted.

 

Severus paced furiously, trying to think but his mind seemed to be stuck on images of the argument they’d had, the pallor of Harry’s face, the speed with which Harry had fled.

 

Severus had reasoned that Harry just need an hour or so to calm down, some space. They both did. Now he wished he’d just held him tight and whispered apologies and love into his ear.

 

When was the last time he’d told Harry he loved him? Yes, he’d said he would be with him and he’d implied but when had he actually last said the words? His dread rose and swelled and he felt sick when he realised he couldn’t remember. What about their last kiss? The last time they’d hugged or touched each other in tenderness rather than necessity?

 

The clock chimed the quarter hour.

 

He couldn’t stay here. The owners would expect them out by ten.

 

Resolving himself, Severus decided he’d check the local area, ask a few questions at the pub and the shops and then he’d check in with Granger and Weasley. Maybe Harry had gone there?

 

He gathered his coat and both their bags, checking that he had both their wands. Weasley had given Harry’s wand to him in case Harry decided he would take off the Binding bracelets. Severus had carried it with him at all times since then.

 

He replaced the key to the house in the small box the owners had provided and then quickly made his way to the local village square. He asked in shops and the pub, which was open for breakfast, and wished he had a photo of Harry, not just to make his search easier but so he could look at it whenever he wanted.

 

He tried not to think that the last time he’d ever see his lover was last night on his way out the door. He made a quiet resolution in himself to take as many pictures of Harry as possible when he found him again.

 

Severus decided he’d exhausted his productive search of the village at around eleven in the morning. He Apparated from the safe point to the town Granger and Weasley inhabited. He had half convinced himself that Harry had probably found a way to his friends’ house by the time he reached the street they lived in. Whether he kissed or killed Harry when he saw him was going to be a matter of impulse.

 

Weasley opened the door, holding his daughter in his hip. The redhead’s look of utter shock sunk all of Severus’ hope that Harry might have turned up at this house.

 

“Snape,” Weasley gaped, “What… Where’s Harry?”

 

The younger man was looking around Severus for his best friend and Severus felt his stomach drop further. The freckly face paled as he met Severus’ eyes with startlingly blue ones filled with fear.

 

“I need your help,” Severus said, not even caring that it was admission of his own failings, “Harry is missing.”

 

Weasley ushered him inside and they went into the kitchen. Weasley placed Rose into the highchair. She was watching them solemnly, apparently having picked up on the mood of the two adults. She would be too intelligent by far, Severus noted distractedly.

 

“Hermione’s at the office,” Weasley told him, “I’ll go Firecall her and get her to come home.”

 

Severus nodded and placed his bags onto the floor under the kitchen table. Rose watched him with her deep brown eyes and then reached out a chubby hand. Severus froze and then, almost unknowingly, stretched out his finger, which Rose grasped onto the long, pale digit.

 

His nerve broke and he sank into a chair, finger still clutched in the tiny palm of Rose Weasley. Ron Weasley and Granger entered the room to find them in this position and they both paused at the door.

 

Severus pulled his finger away and clasped his hands together on the table.

 

He would be ever grateful for their silence as they sat in the other chairs.

 

Granger spoke first, outwardly calm but her eyes were shining with concern. “What happened?”

 

Severus relayed the events of the last few days as briefly as he could - the constant travelling, the nightmares and hallucinations, the lack of sleep, and the argument. Harry storming from the latest rest stop…

 

His voice choked off and he took a deep breath, refusing to show too much emotion in front of the other two.

 

“I had hoped he might have found a way to you. We were not too far from here at our last stop,” Severus told them. He put his head in his hands, feeling hopeless, exhausted, but determined to find his lover.

 

He raised his eyes and found them watching him intently. He raised an eyebrow in question.

 

“You really love him,” Weasley said quietly, “I…” Weasley shook his head and stood, moving to the kitchen sink and bracing himself on it. “I knew… he loved you but… you loving him seemed so weird. But you do.”

 

Severus and Granger watched him as he stared out the window.

 

“Yes,” Severus said eventually, “Yes, I do.”

 

The simplicity of the reply was apparently all Weasley needed to galvanise him to action. He spun around. “The clock,” he said suddenly, “Harry’s got a spoon on the clock at my parents’ house. It might be nothing but-“

 

Granger jumped to her feet and rushed to him, kissing him briefly. “That’s brilliant, Ron!” she cried, “We’ll at least know if he’s on the move or in one place.”

 

She turned to Severus and looked at him questioningly. He nodded his consent and gathered his bags. It was something at least.

 

He needed to find Harry and this was currently his only hope unless Harry came to him.

 

*******

 

Perhaps it had been a mistake to go to the Burrow after all.

 

Molly Weasley beside herself.

 

Severus sat on the worn settee in the small living room, having been pushed there by a fussing Molly after she’d heard about their plight. He’d had a cup of tea enforced upon him and a sandwich had appeared on the coffee table in front of him. His winter coat was hanging on the coat stand beside the Weasley’s robes.

 

Molly, despite only being a decade older than Severus, had fallen straight into mothering him in between worrying about Harry.

 

“Oh, my dear,” she’d said to him, lines of anxiety creasing her face, “You look so tried and worried! It’s a good thing you came to us. We wondered about Harry’s hand being stuck on ‘travelling’ all the time but Hermione said she had been in touch. I’m sure Arthur will think of a way to find him!”

 

She scurried about the house, fussing over everything she found out of place.

 

Indeed, Severus, Granger and Weasley had arrived at the Burrow to find Harry’s hand on the clock to remain on ‘travelling’ whilst Hermione’s had moved to ‘The Burrow’. It was reassuring and disappointing at the same time. A small part of Severus had hoped Harry might have turned up at the Burrow after all the time he’d been missing.

 

“It’s a start,” Granger had said, attempting to reassure him, “We can maybe try a Patronus or something. Let him know we’re looking for him. Maybe he’s looking for you? He might have expected you to stay at the cottage.”

 

Severus shook his head. They never stayed more than one night and never to remain after 8am. But they’d foolishly never agreed on a meeting spot if they were separated.

 

Granger and Weasley discussed possibly strategies for locating Harry as the day wore on. Molly turned her attention to her granddaughter, trying to find something to do to fill the time. Severus remained static on the sofa, chiming in with negative or positive responses if asked but generally feeling too numb to do anything.

 

Arthur arrived at around six in the evening as was filled in my Granger and Weasley. He offered his sympathy to Severus who nodded silently. It was only the clock in the corner, showing Harry’s clock hand unmoved from its position that gave him any hope at all.

 

Molly had set out food for the family in the living room at around seven and the darkening sky led to the lamps being lit within the house. Severus’ sandwich from their arrival was still in its place.

 

At eight, nearly a full day after Harry stormed from their temporary house, the spoon on the clock started to move.

 

Severus stood abruptly, watching the movement like a hawk. The rest of the group stood with him and they froze, a deep icy chill welling within each of them as the hand bearing Harry’s smiling, blinking face stopped its motion over the swirled writing on the clockface.

 

_Mortal Peril._


	22. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'After the initial horrified stillness that had descended upon the Burrow there was a flurry of activity and noise as the Weasleys and Granger exclaimed variations of their dismay and horror and panic.'
> 
> Harry has gone missing and is in danger. Severus works with the Weasleys to track Harry down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone still reading. This was a hard chapter to write again. Hope it's enjoyable.  
> Comments and criticism please!
> 
> C.O.

The first thing Harry registered when he woke up was an intense pain in his right temple. He clenched his eyes tight against the light that filtered through his lids and groaned.

 

So, maybe leaving the cottage hadn’t been the best idea in the world.

 

“Evening, sleepy head. I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

 

The voice was cold and terrifyingly familiar.

 

Harry cracked an eye open, wincing, and saw Steven Castle was sitting opposite him, lazily tapping a wand against his thigh. His throat constricted.

 

“I performed the Enervation charm ages ago but you hit your head.”

 

He tried to move his hands but found them immobilised.

 

“I’ve tied you to the chair,” Steven told him matter-of-factly, “I’m not taking chances this time. You’re slippery.”

 

Harry clenched his jaw and glared at the blonde man. He looked different. He was wearing a set of robes lined with emerald lining and a silver design trailing throughout its dark fabric. His hair was slicked back from his face and his dark eyes were fixed calmly on Harry’s face.

 

“You’ve been a challenge, Potter,” he said with forced nonchalance, “Keep messing up my plans. Finally tracked you down, though.”

 

Harry watched him silently as he tried to remember what had happened, searching for the point he’d been most careless the night and day before. There were, embarrassingly, quite a few. He’d walked for hours, finally reaching the next village where he had staggered into a bed and breakfast that was, miraculously, still accepting check-ins. He’d collapsed onto the small bed, not sleeping but utterly grateful for the relief of pressure in his feet and for not having to walk anymore. His muscles had pulsed with fatigue four hours. By the time the sun had risen he’d finally calmed down from the fight he’d had with Severus. He declined the breakfast portion of his B&B, despite the genial hostess’s instance. She’d reminded him of Molly Weasley. He’d spent a few hours in a small café, swinging between chastising himself for his impulsiveness and thinking of how to get back to Severus who would probably have left the cottage already. He decided to make his way to Ron and Hermione’s, hoping they’d have a way to contact Severus from there. He’d been walking down a quiet street in the evening and then… Blank. He remembered nothing more after that but hours had clearly passed and now he was trussed up in a dining room chair Godric knew where.

 

His mind kept going back to leaving the cottage in his fear and guilt-stricken state. Leaving Severus at the door, shouting Harry’s name.

 

Harry’s heart was racing and hammering against his ribs. His legs and arms were constrained, his neck and head hurt horribly, and he felt the nausea associated with pain and fear bubbling within him like an overheated potion.

 

“You and Snape have been so cautious for the last week, I’d almost given up on finding you,” Steven continued when Harry remained quiet, “But you’re known for your Gryffindor recklessness and you were true to form in the end.”

 

Harry kept his gaze fixed on the other man, who began to pace back and forth in front of him, slowly, casual and unhurried. Steven was clearly confident nobody was going to find them wherever they were. Harry glanced quickly around the room, finding himself in a rather nondescript dining room. The curtains were closed over the windows and the light overhead was of the electric Muggle variety. He could hear no noise from outside.

 

“I’ve had to change the plan so, so many times because of you and your… unpredictability,” Steven complained as he slowly walked back and forth, twirling his wand. His face was a mask of indifference but his eyes were cold and hard.

 

“Sorry to be a bother,” Harry said sarcastically. His head was throbbing and the unpleasant burn of bile was rising in his chest. He scanned the room again, looking for signs of an escape route. There was a door to the right as well as the curtained window. The bindings around his ankles and wrists were tight but perhaps if he wiggled his wrists enough…

 

“I’d have been happy with just driving you mad,” Steven continued, pausing to look at Harry, who stilled his wriggling, “I thought it might have been harder than it was but thankfully your own fucked up mind took what I gave it and dove right into the murky waters of insanity, literally in the end, it would seem. Very Ophelia of you, Potter.”

 

Harry clenched his teeth at the reminder of his suicide attempt.  Steven seemed to be the most unhinged one in the room currently but Harry wasn’t one to judge a murderous, hateful lunatic when he was tied, powerless, to a chair.

 

“I’d hoped you’d be locked up in St. Mungo’s forever if you weren’t dead in the end. It seemed to go so well until Snape came to your rescue, the proverbial knight in black armour,” Steven monologued dramatically, “You both seemed determined to ruin all my plans.

 

“Then you figured it out,” Steven said, almost sorrowfully, “and now you know too much. Shame, really. But I can’t have you mouthing off anymore than you have already.”

 

Harry’s throat constricted. Shit.

 

“How’d you know I knew?” he asked quickly. Steven seemed to like the sound of his own voice and Harry hoped that if he could keep the other man talking, he might free his hands enough to… Well, he’d figure it out. “I can assume you sent the Aurors – an anonymous tip, I guess – and you can obviously trace me, but we could have just been running from the Aurors. Why’d you reveal yourself now?”

 

Steven surveyed him for a few moments before turning and walking to the window. He pulled back one of the flowery curtains, though no light came through, telling Harry he’d been right about the passage of some time. Steven seemed to watch the dark street outside as he answered Harry’s question. Harry took advantage of the lack of attention to wriggle his wrists some more.

 

“You’re friend Granger very helpfully called Gary. She left a message on his answering machine,” Steven said evenly, “Her voice and her message were enough to alert me. And you probably wouldn’t have moved about so much if you didn’t at least have an idea. In any case, I’m tired of you escaping justice.”

 

“Justice?”

 

Steven turned and the malevolent gleam in his eyes froze Harry’s insides.

 

“Justice, retribution, vengeance,” whispered Steven, his voice eerily calm, “Call it what you will but whatever you do I’m getting it tonight.”

 

“Voldemort?” Harry breathed out, wondering how long the fanatics would be after him.

 

He didn’t anticipate the blow and his head snapped back suddenly when it landed squarely on his jaw. He blinked the flash of lights from his eyes and cricked his jaw. When his vision had cleared he saw Steven hadn’t moved but that his wand was trained unwaveringly on Harry.

 

“Do not say that name!” Steven hissed, displaying a sliver of his underlying instability, “You do not deserve to speak such a name. But if you think this is only about the Dark Lord, you are very, very much mistaken, Potter.”

 

Harry closed his eyes tightly and allowed his head to drop forward slightly, willing the pain away from behind his eyes. Steven was clearly volatile and Harry needed to get this back on track if he was going to survive long enough for a potential rescue party to find him.

 

If they were looking…

 

No, he wouldn’t allow himself to think like that. Severus cared about him. He’d not leave him to it.

 

Deciding to avoid the topic of motive for a while in an attempt to keep Steven talking and to stop him from heading straight to the whole murder idea, Harry threw out the first question he could bring to the front of his aching mind.

 

“How’d… How’d you do it all? I know something about the potion but… You killed Terry didn’t you? Just to get the champagne glasses? How’d you know I’d even be there?”

 

“Terry?” Steven asked, looking uncertain for the first time, “Oh, the kitchen porter. That just happened to be an unfortunate necessity, actually – he was in the way, going to destroy a chance at your DNA. In the beginning, after I met you at that unbearable dinner and decided on the Suggerus potion, I’d imagined something entirely different for obtaining it – maybe offering a dental appointment.

 

“Yes, I do work in a dentist’s office,” he confirmed off of Harry’s shocked look, “When Gary Granger walked in, fresh out of his dental nursing course, I thought the surname was a co-incidence. Then he mentioned a cousin, Hermione, and I thought I’d won the vengeance lottery. That he was bent as a silver galleon just made getting close to you easier. He was useful. And being in the know of Muggle information is very useful too when it comes to spell modification, actually. Biology and chemistry can definitely be of use. All of the information of the war casualties is freely available and it was easy to manipulate your subconscious from there. You’re mind is incredibly open.”

 

“Why’d you work in a Muggle dentist office? You’re clearly magical,” Harry winced at the dull throb from his jaw and head. He decided to ignore the commentary on his mind – he knew he was a rubbish Occlumens.

 

“Magical world doesn’t suit everyone all the time, Potter,” he replied, giving Harry a knowing look, and Harry was reminded that it was Steven and Gary who’d recommended Fabric, the nightclub he’d met Severus in front of, all those months ago.

 

“What about Severus? Was that you too?” Harry asked, almost unwillingly and very reticently. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to whether Steven had been manipulating their relationship.

 

Steven laughed and a chill ran down Harry’s spine at the icy sound.

 

“That’s actually one of the most delicious parts,” Steven said and Harry’s insides turned to lead, “You did that all on your own. One of the only true coincidences in this whole saga, you and Snape. As I say, it felt like all my birthdays and Christmases had come together when I saw you leave that restaurant with him. I’d been planning on taking you down separately but you let me kill two queers with one stone, thanks.”

 

Harry glared at the slur but he felt the efficacy was likely diminished by an involuntary grimace of pain. A small bud of hope had flared in his chest when he realised that the relationship he and Severus shared was true and real and loving and Merlin! He felt like even more an idiot now for storming out of that cottage.

 

“In the end, driving you insane and getting him caught for illegal potions supply has been a wonderful, if prolonged, endeavour,” Steven continued, “Even this little hiccough at the end where you both got away from the Aurors gives me a second chance.”

 

“Second chance? There’s no surviving evidence that Severus supplied those potions as far as we know,” Harry said, feeling triumphant, “That part of your plot failed, I’m afraid.”

 

Nothing mattered to Harry beyond Severus at that moment. Harry had to believe he’d find a way out of the situation he’d gotten himself into. He thought the rope might be loosening around his left wrist. He really wished he’d let Severus take off those bands and he needed to get away to let Severus know he’d been right and Harry was an idiot and that Harry loved him.

 

To his dismay Steven just laughed again, horribly high-pitched and ringing with insanity.

 

“Actually,” Steven said, smirking, “I’m counting on him getting arrested when he comes looking for you.”

 

Harry blinked.

 

“What? He doesn’t even know where I am. How can he come for me?,” Harry said, utterly nonplussed.

 

Steven’s casual response as he exited the room made his heart stop.

 

“He will.”

 

*******

 

After the initial horrified stillness that had descended upon the Burrow there was a flurry of activity and noise as the Weasleys and Granger exclaimed variations of their dismay and horror and panic.

 

Severus had stood in the centre of a maelstrom of action, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to _think_ beyond the near-endless possibilities implied by those terrible words.

 

_Mortal Peril._

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he came back to himself. He was sitting on the settee in the Weasley living room as the other four adults shot ideas back and forth. Granger was flipping feverishly through a charms book, several others laid out in front of her on the table, and blabbering about location spells to Arthur Weasley who was healping her, as Ron Wealsey paced back and forth repeating a number of creative expletives. That Molly Weasley was allowing her youngest son to swear so profusely in front of her indicated the seriousness of the situation. She was fussing in the kitchen making an awful racket, banging and clanging the pots and pans.

 

Severus stood suddenly and the room was silent in the same instant. He stalked towards the clock. Harry’s hand was poised over the same position it had been.

 

_There is still time._

“What do we know?” he asked abruptly.

 

When the others were silent and the clanging in the kitchen ceased, Severus whirled around, looming over the group. Ron Wealsey was red-faced and resumed his pacing. Granger was avoiding his gaze. Molly resumed her noise making in the kitchen.

 

“Only what you have told us, Severus,” Arthur offered quietly, “That you were travelling, you argued, and that Harry left. He obviously couldn’t have gotten far without a wand to hail the Knight Bus or to Apparate.”

 

Severus nodded.

 

“He seemed to have been on the move for a fair part of today,” Granger picked up, “Did you notice anything different last night, Arthur?” The elder Weasley shook his head in the negative.

 

Severus’ lips thinned as he pressed them together.

 

“You said he told you he’d be back for the train,” Granger continued, “He was likely distracted from your argument and being so tired. Maybe he was kidnapped en route to somewhere.“

 

“Maybe he’s trying to kill himself again,” Ron Weasley blurted out angrily, “Ever think of that? Why didn’t you go after him, Snape? He probably thinks you didn’t care!”

 

His voice had risen in volume and pitch and his face was blotchy from anger and repressed tears. Severus bit his cheek to hide a flinch as Weasley threw at him the exact possibility he’d been trying to avoid touching upon.

 

“He wouldn’t,” said Severus in a low, monotonous voice, “He… has not expressed those thoughts to me.”

 

“Yeah, like he was all ‘Sharey’ Potter the first two bloody times!” Weasley shouted furiously.

 

“Ron,” Granger said quietly but sharply, standing up.

 

“Hermione-“

 

“NO!” Granger yelled before calming down and taking a breath. “Arguing is not going to do anything to help Harry.”

 

The room was still and silent again.

 

Molly’s movements in the kitchen had stopped but Severus refused to look at her. Severus’ had promised her he’d keep Harry safe when they’d had their whispered, terse conversation before Harry was discharged from St. Mungo’s. No matter which way they looked at the situation – suicide or kidnap, Severus had failed. He had failed Molly Weasley, he had failed Harry, and he had failed himself.

 

“Apologise to Severus, Ron Weasley. Right now.”

 

All heads turned to Molly Weasley who was standing with a tea towel clutched in her hands, her blazing brown eyes aimed directly at her son.

 

“That is not necessary, Molly,” Severus intoned quietly, “I-“

 

“Apologise. Ronald,” Molly interrupted, ignoring Severus entirely.

 

“But, mum-“

 

“That man clearly loves Harry as much as we do, Ronald,” Molly said, advancing on her son, who cowered back despite his height advantage, “You seem to gave accepted that yourself. Harry is our family. Severus is his partner. Severus is our family. I will _not_ tolerate a family argument in the middle of a crisis. I will not allow another family member to be lost because you’re too busy assigning false blame. Clear?”

 

Weasley gulped and nodded before turning to Severus. “Sorry, Professor,” he whispered, “I just… He’s my best friend. I found him the last time. I’ve… We’ve almost lost him too many times. I can’t… We can’t lose him.”

 

Severus nodded his acceptance and Weasley slid slowly, boneless into a chair, and put his face in his hands. Granger squeezed his shoulder silently.

 

“You said that Harry had a tracing spell on him,” Arthur Weasley broke the silence that had fallen, “Could we utilise that somehow? It’s possible he’s in one place now.”

 

Severus shook his head. “The tracking spell was linked to the potion and Harry’s bodily sample,” he said wearily, “Without the potion and a sample of Harry’s skin, spit, blood, or hair it would be useless.“

 

“Does Harry have a hairbrush?” Granger asked excitedly, “We could-“

 

“It would be too late,” Severus interrupted her, “The potion would take too long and it is too volatile to rush.”

 

Granger slumped.

 

A depressed air had filled the room. Severus felt it cloying at his throat and his hope was being sucked from him, leaving him breathless and aching, as precious seconds ticked away.

 

He needed to get out; away from the heavy blanket of despair that was setting in. Without a word, he stood and swept into the garden. The fresh, cold night air hit his face hard and he closed his eyes to stop them watering. He ignored the stinging that continued behind his lids and clenched his fists.

 

‘Come on, Severus,’ he thought, ‘one idea is all you need. One bright, bloody, idea.’

 

An odd, buzzing sensation filled his head. His teeth felt like they were vibrating hard enough to fall out and he clenched his jaw.

 

Suddenly, he gasped as his mind was filled with an image of an unknown cottage. It flickered briefly in and out and then switched to another of Harry, bruised, pale, tied to a chair. Another flicker and this cottage was more familiar.

 

_Phoenix Landing_

 

The buzzing stopped abruptly and Severus staggered back. He steadied himself on the wall of the house.

 

He sucked in sharp, rapid gasps of air. Harry…

 

Hary was alive. Harry was hurt, but Harry was _alive_.

 

And Severus knew where he was. Or at least the village he was in. He’d be able to find it if he looked, he was sure. The images were burned into his brain. They had to be real; they had to be because otherwise it was going to be over and Severus would have lost Harry forever.

 

But… how? And why?

 

His mind whirred faster and faster as he processed this new information.

 

The potion. Harry had talked about champagne glasses – it wasn’t a stretch to imagine one of them was Severus’. Is that what Harry felt like when Castle had been manipulating him, but worse? Because Harry had seen his dead friends. Severus had just been given some new, vital information.

 

It was a trap.

 

Severus hadn’t spent so many years as a spy to be ignorant of that possibility.

 

He’d tell the Weasleys. But would Castle know he’d done that and kill Harry? Severus cursed himself for not knowing more about that bloody potion!

 

He didn’t have time for this. He needed to go.

 

*******

 

The ropes had loosened very slightly on his right wrist… almost… there….

 

“Well, Potter, I think we still have time for a little fun before your lover boy arrives.”

 

_Merlin’s balls!_

Steven sauntered back into the room, carrying a small bundle, his face smug with presumed triumph. Harry stilled immediately, trying to ignore the new pain in his wrists, which burned in addition to the throbbing in his head and the pounding of his heart against his chest wall.

 

“I think we’ll have to make it look authentic for the Aurors when they arrive,” Steven continued blithely. He twirled his wand again and Harry watched him closely.

 

“Authentic?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking.

 

“Can’t have you looking too pristine if we’re going to make them believe Snape killed you, can we?”

 

Harry’s heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe. He had the completely irrational impulse to laugh.

 

When his mind started to work again he knew he needed to get Steven talking. The longer he talked, the better chance he had of surviving this. Steven liked to talk; he seemed to like to talk about himself. Maybe if Harry could get him going he’d manage to free his wrists and then… And then Steven would kill him before he could undo his ankles.

 

“Why?” he blurted out, the only question that came to mind, “Why are you doing this?”

 

Steven seemed to still entirely.

 

“You said it was justice,” Harry continued, grasping onto his idea, “Justice for whom? If not Voldemort-”

 

A pain slashed across his chest and left shoulder and he couldn’t stop himself from crying out.

 

“Say that name again, Potter, and it will be your tongue,” Steven hissed. Harry glanced down at his chest. His t-shirt was cut open and he could see bright, crimson blood as it seeped through. It felt warm against his chest and shoulder - warm and sticky and painful. He moved to touch it before he remembered the ropes. He stifled a gasp as he realised his right wrist moved further than it had before.

 

Steven had turned away again and Harry chanced a glance at his bindings. The right ropes had been sliced, nearly through. It would have probably meant the loss of his hand had the ropes not been there. And Steven hadn’t noticed.

 

Harry bolstered his resolve. Steven’s anger had caused his spell to be inaccurate. If Harry could make him angry (without the invocation of Voldemort’s name – he quite liked his tongue in place, after all) he might provoke Steven to making another mistake.

 

Harry just needed to make sure Steven didn’t get angry enough to just kill him before he meant to.

 

“Okay, okay,” he said through gritted teeth, “But why? Why do you want to hurt us so badly?”

 

Steven considered him for a few seconds, likely weighing up the harms in telling Harry his story. It seemed he’d been planning this for a very long time and Steven didn’t seem like the type of man to be content with keeping his hard work and victories to himself.

 

“I’m a dead man according to you, Steven,” Harry encouraged him, “Dead men can’t exactly spread a story.”

 

It was enough. Steven resumed his pacing in front of Harry, who tried to loosen his ankle bindings as subtly as he could by pointing his toes down into the ground and trying to stretch the bindings. They didn’t go far up his legs, which indicated to Harry that Steven had never kidnapped anyone before.

 

“What other reason but family?” Steven said.

 

Harry remained silent as he watched Steve pace. He tried as hard as he could to keep his right hand still in an attempt not to draw attention to the ruined bindings.

 

“My mother tried to keep it all hidden from me for so long. We lived in France for the greater part of my childhood. It was only when I was in my early twenties and my mother was dying that she told me about my father,” Steven said, “I’d been asking and asking for so long; from when I was a young child. Every holiday I home from Beauxbatons, I would ask. My mother was a loving woman but she refused to tell me about my father.

 

“He left, you see, before I was born. Mother told me he’d been a great man but that they hadn’t been able to be together,” he continued, his face changing from blissful reminiscence to a sour, ugly expression, “He’d been married, apparently, when I was conceived and building his career. It would have been a scandal, so he sent my mother to France with a house and a stipend and I wanted for nothing. Except for knowing my father.”

 

“You’re doing this because of daddy issues?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself. He half-anticipated the blow this time but still hissed as his left jaw was struck with an invisible fist.

 

“Do me quiet if you want to hear,” Steven requested with icy calm.

 

Harry tasted the tangy iron of blood and kept his eyes closed whilst Steven continued.

 

“He was a Ministry Man, apparently, until _you_ exposed him,” Steven spat, “He believed in purity and he wanted to improve the magical world. He sought out secrets and mysteries. The Dark Lord relied on him for information.”

 

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Steven who was glaring at Harry with wild rage.

 

“For years he was one of the most useful and skilled men to work with the Dark Lord,” Steven continued, “Mother was proud of him and though she didn’t tell me who he was, she raised me in his image.

 

“She told me who he was before she died and I sought him out. But it was too late,” he said glowering and advancing on Harry, “Your ‘victory’ over the Dark Lord was his ruin. He was given the Kiss not long after the war ended because of your actions and because you took no interest in his trial.”

 

Harry frowned. He’d been witness to so many trials and his mind had been so frazzled in the early days after the war. He couldn’t remember the name ‘Castle’ ever coming up but he knew that any trial he’d attended he had argued that a Dementor’s Kiss was not to be used. It was a terrible fate he wished on nobody. He must have not been present at this one.

 

Steven’s entire rant so far had focussed on him. But why involve Severus?

 

Harry asked as such, unable to stem his curiosity.

 

Steven laughed, cold and cruel then cupped Harry’s face in mock tenderness. “Your lover boy was given all the chances to remain with the Dark Lord but he squandered it,” Steven said and pushed Harry’s face aside before slapping him as he turned his head back. It made his cheek burn.

 

“He betrayed the Dark Lord. He was a spy just like my father but for the wrong side,” Steven told him, “He betrayed us all. Which is why he must suffer.

 

“His affection for you just gives me more to work with,” Steven said.

 

Harry gulped. God, what would it do to Severus to find him dead and then be blamed for it?

 

“Who?” Harry asked shakily, “Who was your father?”

 

This was enough for Harry’s plan to work, though he hadn’t expected it. The chair he was tied to flew across the room and crashed into the wall. It splintered beneath him, technically freeing him, and he landed awkwardly on his left wrist. He registered a snapping noise and intense pain over his left side before he was hauled up by the front of his t-shirt and found himself face to face with Steven.

 

The brown eyes were filled with enraged disgust and fury and Harry truly feared for his life in that moment.

 

“I hope you know it is your arrogance and ignorance that had killed you, Potter!” Steven snarled, “That you do not remember lends credence to my cause. It is because you did not step in that I do not know my father even behind the bars of Azkaban!

 

“His name,” he growled, “Was Augustus Rookwood and you are his murderer as far as I am concerned.”

 

Harry vaguely remembered the Rookwood trial and recalled he’d been drafted into a Death Eater hunt the day it was to occur. It would be of no comfort to Steven, who glared and snarled at him and hated him for the loss of his father.

 

“Any last words, Potter?” Steven asked him, adding a rough shake to his question.

 

Injured and exhausted as he was, Harry was not going to let himself be killed without a fight. He wished, again, for his magic and his wand but as neither was easily available he’d have to improvise.

 

Simultaneously, he brought his right knee up and snapped his head forward catching Steven in the groin and nose.

 

The hand holding his shirt left go as Steven stumbled back and Harry managed to stop himself from falling.

 

Ignoring the jolts of pain from his left wrist and head and chest, he bolted to the door as Steven curled onto the floor. He wrenched the front door open and sprinted as hard as he could, cradling his left wrist, towards the edge of the village.

 

 


	23. Flight and Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Severus Apparated into the living room of Phoenix Landing and took off out of the house without pausing. He grasped his wand in his hand, uncaring of any Muggles that might see him as he half-jogged down the streets. He’d be damned if he was going to be caught unawares by Castle.'
> 
> Severus goes to find Harry, who has been taken by their newest enemy but has an escape plan of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> I apologise for the relatively big gap in posting this chapter. Work has been busy and now I'm about as happy with this as I will ever be, I think. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and for reading! The comments have been a big help in getting this chapter finished.  
> Hope this is enjoyable! Thanks again!  
> C.O.

Severus Apparated into the living room of Phoenix Landing and took off out of the house without pausing. He grasped his wand in his hand, uncaring of any Muggles that might see him as he half-jogged down the streets. He’d be damned if he was going to be caught unawares by Castle.

 

It was nearly 11pm and the local pub would be letting out soon, he expected, so he needed to move quickly.

 

The village looked different at night but he recognised the fountain the gang of youth’s had been sitting at and the Post Office, though this was now in darkness.

 

Severus muttered a hasty ‘ _Lumos_ ’ as he moved, giving him a little more light to work by than provided by the sparse street lamps. Every damnable cottage looked the same in the village and Severus’ legs were burning with the effort, his hands were numb from the chill air, and his hope was fading that he’d find Harry in time.

 

He stopped, briefly, to catch his breath and he made to lower his wand when he saw it. At the end of the street, a light was filtering through an open door onto the garden in front of it. Severus started to jog towards it, quickening his pace when he saw the garden gate was also off the latch.

 

He hurried up the path and slammed into the house, uncaring of the noise or being caught. His only thought was that Harry needed him. He’d deal with the consequences later if he was wrong.

 

There was no noise in the house apart from Severus’ panting breaths. He kept his wand raised, curses ready on the tip of his tongue as he searched the lower floor. The living room was innocuous and filled with chintzy furniture; he moved into the kitchen, which was dark and he kept his wand illuminated as he walked back into the hall and then into the dining room. His heart stopped as he took in the scene.

 

The remains of a splintered chair and ropes were littering the far side of the room; the table was pushed back to the wall and there was a hint of something that looked horribly like blood on the carpet. But there was no sign of either Harry or Castle. Severus cursed and quickly scanned the upstairs rooms to ensure no one had been there before he practically jumped down the stairs and back into the front hall.

 

He ran out into the street just as the revellers from the local pub were letting out. They sounded happy and oblivious but Severus didn’t have the time to hate them for it.

 

He hid his wand in his shirtsleeve as he passed a group of young Muggles on his way back into the village square. His mind was racing and trying to catch onto a possible plan was near impossible with the noise and his worry and fear. He found himself close to the edge of the village, near where he and Harry had made their first entrance to Mould-on-the-Wold. Had that only been just over a week ago? It seemed like an age.

 

Severus pulled his wand out again, considering sending a Patronus to the Weasley household, who must have noticed he was also missing by now. It had been foolish not to tell them he’d gone but as with almost everything when it had come to Harry’s disappearance, Severus hadn’t really been thinking.

 

He was getting ready to cast the spell when he spotted a shadowy figure running across the field in front of him. It was hobbling slightly and despite the distance Severus could tell it was wearing a set of robes that flew out behind it in the wind. It was running towards the forest.

 

Castle. It had to be him.

 

Severus quickly scanned the field for any sign of another, smaller figure that could be Harry but saw nothing.

 

It was the only lead he had. Severus lowered his wand and watched as the figure disappeared into the edge of the forest. He Apparated, forming his plan in his mind as he disappeared.

 

*******

 

Harry had had no idea what he was going to do once he got away from Steven. He just kept running.

 

He decided to duck into the back streets where he could, trying to avoid being seen by anyone. He couldn’t risk the lives or safety of the Muggles in the village by knocking on doors. He didn’t know how long it would take Steven to get himself together.

 

So he’d run as fast as he could with a (more-than-likely) broken wrist and head injury, blood coagulating on his chest, through the cold night air towards the edge of the village.

 

He’d hidden, briefly, behind a fence, trying to remove the Magic Binders on his wrists and having about as much success as Neville brewing anything more complex than Rash Reliever. Apart from anything else, his left wrist was too sore to get a proper look at the binder and he’d have no chance using his left hand on the right bracelet.

 

He’d have to do without magic, it seemed. So he continued to run. When he neared the edge of the houses, he saw an all too familiar forest in front of him. It looked like the Forest of Dean.

 

He’d exited it with Severus just over a week ago and had camped there for a fair time when he was seventeen. It seemed ironic that this forest would be the site of so many dramatic moments of his life. It was his best chance to disappear, to escape from Steven, he thought. There were areas amongst the trees he could hide and maybe he’d be able to dodge Steven long enough to double back and seek help.

 

Steven had indicated that Severus would know where to come looking for him. If he could hide for long enough t escape Steven, maybe he’d be able to find Severus. Did Steven know about Phoenix Landing?

 

His mind halfway made up, Harry began running towards the forest. It was his best bet, really, he thought.

 

*******

 

Severus had slowed his pace as he entered the forest. There was no point in making his presence known before he meant it to be.

 

He’d managed to calm his mind from the initial discovery of the cottage to searching the forest. Alerting Castle to his presence would put him at a distinct disadvantage.

 

He’d dimmed his wand but kept it out as he stalked through the trees. Severus vaguely remembered the path he and Harry had taken and tried to stay vaguely adjacent to it. He’d been walking for at least twenty minutes and had found no sign of anyone. The ground beneath his feet was crisp with the fallen leaves of autumn and the air puffed out of him in white clouds.

 

He’d been walking for quite sometime without any sign that another being had passed at all.

 

A noise up ahead made him pause. Was it Harry? Or Castle?

 

Severus crept, slowly, forward to the edged forward and he came to the border of a clearing. He ducked behind a tree and watched.

 

A lone figure was pacing the open space. It’s robes flared behind them as they moved. A low, muttering sound emanated from the clearing and then a small fire flared in the centre.

 

Castle. It had to be, Severus thought as he watched.

 

“You can’t hide from me, Potter,” Castle said to the clearing, “I have you… I will find you, you murderous cretin.”

 

Severus tensed and clutched his wand tighter. Castle was clearly insane. Unstable; unpredictable. It was dangerous to deal with unpredictable people.

 

Severus could cope with danger.

 

He stepped out into the clearing just as Castle turned around to face him.

 

“You seem stressed, Mr Castillo,” Severus drawled, keeping his wand trained on the other man. “Any particular reason for that?”

 

Castle pulled himself up and drew his own wand. His entire stature screamed of tension and stress and anger and fear. Things clearly hadn’t gone to plan. Severus knew that things very rarely went to plan for those who went up against Harry Potter.

 

“Found me did you?” Castle said to him, stiffly, obviously trying to maintain a façade of calm but failing miserably, “Bit late. Your boyfriend took off a while ago. I was just looking for him around here. Or, well, I was just about to send him a message.”

 

Severus caught site of a small vial in Castle’s left hand, recognising a portion of the Suggerus potion. His jaw tightened and he tasted bile in the back of his throat.

 

He was prepared to painfully remove every single one of Castle’s limbs and then reattach them so he could do it again and again for the pain he’d brought to his and Harry’s lives.

 

“It would be a mistake to make me more angry, Castle,” Severus said, moving further into the clearing. The other man backed away slightly in the opposite direction but maintained his wand at the level of Severus’ chest.

 

“Pardon me if I find myself unable to care at this moment,” Castle hissed venomously, “You and Potter have gotten away with enough and it’s time you learnt your lesson. _Experlliarmus!_ ”

 

Severus cast the defensive charm wordlessly and fired back an effortless Knockback Jinx. Castle stepped aside but was caught by the jinx, making him stumble as he shouted, “ _Incendio!_ ”

 

It was easily neutralised by a flame-freezing charm and they found themselves circling each other and the fire.

 

The flames crackled and the low lighting threw menacing shadows over Castle’s face. His eyes were filled with manic intensity and Severus realised the man was completely mad.

 

So far the duel had not been taxing for Severus but he wondered how long he could keep this up with his need to find Harry, who could be lying somewhere, injured and alone. His eyes flicked to the edges of the clearing. He had no plan to find Harry in the vast forest but the longer he was kept from sending for help, the longer Harry would be in danger.

 

“You’re not escaping this time, Snape,” Castle spat, “You’ve both ruined my plans but I can still get my revenge!”

 

Severus had no time to reply as he blocked a flurry of hexes, trying not to back too far into the woods. He couldn’t give Castle a chance to use that potion.

 

*******

 

It felt like he’d been running for hours.

 

His wrist screamed in pain and his head was throbbing. He’d tripped over a branch a while back and his ankle hurt but he needed to keep going. Steven had the advantage of magic and not carrying a significant injury; it wouldn’t take long for him to catch up if Harry slowed down even slightly. He was probably leaving a trail of destruction in his wake as well.

 

He felt like he was running in circles.

 

The gnarled, leafless trees on either side of him scraped his face and the dead leaves crunched under his feet as he ran. But he didn’t have time to be quiet.

 

The cold air whipped at his face, chilling his nose and ears to the point of pain. The wound on his chest cried in pain with each heaving breath Harry took. His pulse pounded in his ears.

 

But he had to run.

 

Ahead he saw a light. It flickered and his footing faltered slightly.

 

This was too familiar.

 

He continued forward but more slowly, cautiously. The flickering light grew nearer and he recognised it as a fire.

 

He could hear voices and movement ahead.

 

This was his dream and if he was right…

 

Harry moved forward more quickly, still quietly and took in the scene in front of him.

 

“Don’t be a fool, Castle!” Severus shouted and sliced his wand through the air at the other man.

 

Castle blocked the spell with his own wand and a hasty, “ _Protego_!” though it looked to have taken some effort as he stumbled slightly. Still, he managed to fire off a fairly well-placed stinging hex that Severus blocked wordlessly, though on further inspection the older man seemed to have been caught by some kind of hex as his right cheek was red and scratched.

 

“You are a child in this endeavour, Castle!” Severus called out as he avoided a Knockback Jinx, “You are but playing with the Dark Arts.”

 

“Time to be a grown-up then,” Castle responded, a wicked light entering his eyes.

 

Harry’s heart stopped as the other man raised his wand and his mouth began to form the familiar and dreaded words.

 

“ _Avada kedavra!_ ”

 

Several things happened at once.

 

Harry’s legs carried his forward into the clearing of their own volition. Sickeningly recognisable green light flashed from Castle’s wand and hurled towards Severus who had turned to look where Harry had burst into the clearing. Severus was shouting at him. The bands on Harry’s wrists buzzed violently and his chest bubbled with pain and rage and, oh, Merlin, it felt like fire was coursing through his nervous system. Harry collided with Severus as the spell flew straight at them and Harry shouted.

 

“No!”

 

A blinding white light filled the clearing.

 

The buzzing stopped.

 

Harry blacked out.

 

*******

 

Strawberries.

 

Severus could smell strawberries. They were everywhere and it was fresh and strong and reminded him of summer and Eton Mess at Hogwarts and Harry. Was he in bed with Harry?

 

He blinked his eyes open and became acutely aware the generalised ache all over his body. His eyes closed again, involuntarily, and he groaned. No, he didn’t think he was in bed with Harry.

 

Clenching his teeth, he opened his eyes again and rolled over. He looked around, confused and sore. He registered dampness over and through his shirt and trousers at the same time as he took in the forest clearing. The grey morning light of dawn was filtering through the branches of the leafless trees above him and he could hear some birds tweeting and singing to each other.

 

Everything came rushing back when he saw Harry’s unmoving form stretched out beside him, face down in the mud and leaves. His heart stopped for a full three seconds and he froze before scrambling to his knees, ignoring the wet, dirty ground beneath him as he crawled towards Harry and pulled his shoulders round to move him onto his back, lying him across his own knees.

 

“Harry!” Severus shouted, sweeping the matted wet and dirty hair back from Harry’s pale forehead, “Harry, wake up!”

 

Dirt coated the side of Harry’s face but didn’t cover the bruises or his scar. Harry’s head lolled into Severus’ stomach, his lips were parted cracked and pale.   Severus hurriedly felt for a pulse at Harry’s neck, nauseated and shaking from fear that he’d failed to protect him; failed to keep his lover safe despite his promises, hadn’t had a last chance to tell him he loved him.

 

His vision was blurring and his breathing was erratic and then he felt it: a faint, fluttering thing but present nonetheless. Harry had a pulse.

 

The sob bubbled out of Severus’ chest in relief and he pulled Harry close to him in a tight embrace, rocking the unconscious man back and forth.   As he calmed, he became more fully aware of the immediacy of their situation and suddenly remembered Castle who had been in the clearing with them.

 

Severus raised his head and saw another figure lying across the open area of wood. He slowly eased Harry from his grasp and laid him on the ground. He looked around again and located his wand, performed a quick cushioning and warming charm around Harry, before shakily getting to his feet.

 

He took a moment to steady himself and headed towards Castle, wand raised, slow and steady.

 

Castle’s eyes were wide and unseeing and glassy, looking forever at the sky though never able to recognise it again. Severus swallowed hard, kneeling down and lowering his wand. He felt, again, for a pulse because he needed to be thorough. He noted that Castle’s head was resting on a rock and a small pool of blood had gathered beneath his hair. Severus let out a shaky breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

 

He closed the dead man’s eyes and stood again, unsure of what to do with the body. Should he burn it? Should he turn it in?

 

He was too tired to think of a plan. He turned and made his way back to Harry, who hadn’t moved at all.

 

Severus felt another stab of worry as he knelt down. He checked Harry over, looking for outward signs of injury. He saw no head wounds except for the bruises he’d seen earlier; a long, fairly deep cut from Harry’s right flank to his left shoulder was seeping slightly, some visible scab having come away from the wound. This bisected the burn scar Harry had received from the Horcrux when he was 17. His ankle was swollen but not deformed.

 

It was Harry’s wrists that concerned him the most. The left was oddly bent and swollen and horribly bruised but both wrists were encircled by bands of burned skin, blistered and red and peeling. There were scars he had only seen the edges of, which Severus assumed were from Harry’s suicide attempt and they were now surrounded and inflamed by the burns.

 

The Magical Binders were gone.

 

Severus had to assume that the flash of white light he’d remembered was Harry’s magic surging to the fore and blasting them out the way. But Harry had pushed him away from the Killing Curse. Harry had put himself in danger for Severus.

 

Harry was going to get a firm talking to about his Hero Complex as soon as he was well enough.

 

But they needed to get him well enough first.

 

Severus took a deep, calming breath, smelled the scent strawberries, and sent his Patronus.

 

*******

 

The first thing Harry recognised was that he was, in fact, alive.

 

It was the tremendous amount of pain he felt that tipped him off. And also because it took a great amount of effort to even think about opening his eyes.

 

The surface beneath him was soft and he was warm, which made him think at least he wasn’t lost in a forest in the south west of England. He could smell flowers and hear the soft whisper of deliberately hushed voices.

 

“You need to take some time away, Severus,” a voice that definitely belonged to Molly Weasley said, “It’s been two days; he’ll wake up when he wakes up. You need to rest.”

 

“I refuse to leave him,” Severus replied stubbornly, and Harry could imagine the set of his jaw; the determined look in his eyes, “I need to be here when he awakens.”

 

“We can let you know as soon as he does, Severus,” Mrs Weasley pleaded, “You-“

 

“Molly,” Severus interrupted, “Think if it were Arthur.”

 

The room was silent and Harry supposed that Mrs Weasley couldn’t argue with that line of thought.

 

He felt a cool, long-fingered hand slip into his own, intertwining their fingers and caress the back of his hand. Harry sighed in content.

 

“Harry?” Severus asked quickly and Harry felt the side of the bed dip, “Harry can you hear me?”

 

“Urgh,” Harry said.

 

He’d meant to say ‘yes’ but that hadn’t really worked out.

 

“Molly, get the Invigorating Draught and the painkiller I brewed,” said Severus hurriedly. A hand came to Harry’s forehead and brushed his hair from face before moving round to the back of his neck, holding his head up. Cold glass was held to his lips. “Drink, Harry,” Severus told him gently.

 

Harry didn’t have much choice, he thought, as the peppermint liquid was poured into his mouth. It was either swallow or choke at this point and he’d rather avoid choking to death after finding out he was still alive after all. Tingling and warmth spread through him as he drank and his eyes fluttered open.

 

His vision was blurred and he blinked furiously. Severus was close enough to him that he could make out most of his features and could see an unusual dark shadow of stubble lining his jaw. Mrs Weasley was a blob of orange and reddish pattern in the background.

 

Severus’ face relaxed and Harry gave him a small smile. He tried to raise his hand and winced. Severus frowned and then pressed another vial to his lips and Harry drank gratefully, glad to taste the sharp, gingery flavour of a pain relieving draft. His shoulders slumped in relief and he relaxed back onto the fluffy pillows.

 

“Harry, dear,” Mrs Weasley bustled up, “So glad you’re back with us; here’s your glasses.”

 

She pushed them onto Harry’s face and the world came back into sharp focus. He recognised that they were in Percy’s old room at the Burrow. It was the only room with a double bed apart from Mr and Mrs Weasley’s. Mrs Weasley was beaming at him, though she looked worried and tired.

 

“Thanks,” Harry croaked, and grimaced at the sound of his own voice. He turned to Severus who looked utterly exhausted. His eyes were underlined with dark shadows and the stubble accentuated his pallor. “You look a bit shit, Sev,” he said gently and finally managed to raise his hand to cup the other man’s cheek and jaw. He held the other man’s gaze, trying to convey as much emotion as possible into his eyes.

 

“You are being rather hypocritical, Potter,” Severus replied with a fond smile. He brought his hand up to cover Harry’s on his face and then turned into Harry’s palm, kissing it softly.

 

A quiet cough interrupted them and they dropped their hands. They turned to look at Mrs Weasley who was blushing slightly and wringing her hands, “I’ll, um, I’ll give you a bit of time before I let the others know you’re awake. Everyone’s here.” She nodded and turned, seemed to hesitate and then gave them another glance, before leaving.

 

Harry sighed and then looked at Severus who was watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“You going to chew me out for storming out of that cottage?” Harry asked, resignedly, “I wouldn’t blame you. It was stupid.”

 

Severus watched him silently for a few seconds before leaning in and kissing Harry softly on the lips. He pulled back only slightly so that they were still nose-to-nose and Harry closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Severus’.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes stinging behind his closed lids. He was too tired, too relieved that they were both alive and apparently safe, to fight his tears. “I put you in danger. I’m sorry.”

 

Strong arms came up around his chest, pulling him into a tight embrace. He could feel Severus’ heartbeat against his own chest and brought his own arms around the other man’s waist, nuzzling into the crook of Severus’ neck and shoulder.

 

“I thought you had died saving me,” Severus whispered, “I’m just glad you are here for me to berate later when you’re feeling better.”

 

Harry smiled through his tears, his lips grazing Severus’ skin.

 

“You are going to have to fill in some substantial gaps in our knowledge of events,” Severus said, though he was stroking Harry’s back in a way that suggested he wasn’t looking to let go all too soon.

 

Harry swallowed and pulled back slightly. He’d almost managed to forget that Severus didn’t have a clear idea of what had happened to Harry after they’d separated. His pain had subsided thanks to the potion, but he knew he’d been significantly injured in his encounter with Steven.

 

Harry looked down to his chest, recalling the cut and noted that he’d been dressed in a set of pyjamas, which had clearly belonged to one of the Weasley boy’s. The arms were slightly too long and had been rolled up for his hands.

 

“Do not fret,” Severus said dryly, “I insisted that I be the one to dress you. I did not think you’d appreciate Molly Weasley uncovering your unmentionables.”

 

Harry blushed and mumbled a ‘thank you’ before pulling the front of the pyjama shirt open. The wound had been healed but there was a pink, angry-looking scar running across his upper abdomen and chest to his shoulder.

 

“It will likely leave a scar, I’m afraid,” said Severus, softly, “It became infected from the dirt but we can minimise it.”

 

Harry shrugged and glanced at Severus with a sad but accepting expression, “What’s another scar added to the collection, eh?”

 

“It’s your wrists that concern us the most. We’ve been using salves but the injuries are being most stubborn. The fracture to your left wrist was not insignificant, either,” Severus replied seriously and moved to roll up Harry’s sleeves.

 

Harry hadn’t been fully aware that the bindings on his wrists felt much different until he saw the gauze wrappings and bandages in place of the silver Magic Binders. He immediately sat bolt upright and stared at his wrists.

 

“Shit, Severus,” he said, panic flooding through him, “It… I’ve got to get away from here. If my magic’s not bound-“

 

“We think it is fine,” Severus cut in, “Your magic seems to have settled from what we can tell. There was a rather large outburst in the clearing, which destroyed the binders but also acted to drain your build up of magical resources. Granger has run some tests she found. I knew it was a bad idea to bind your magic for so long.”

 

Severus looked both vindicated and rueful at the idea.

 

“How can we know?” Harry asked quietly.

 

Severus sighed and took Harry’s hand in his own, tracing the edge of the bandage over Harry’s wrist with his thumb. “We shall take the risk. I will not see your powers bound again,” Severus replied, looking Harry straight in the eye, “It is too dangerous to you. You were unarmed and you have suffered serious injury and magical depletion after your outburst. Even though you managed to, somehow, keep us from the Killing Curse, you still could have died.”

 

Silence descended in the small room. Harry looked down to their clasped hands, thinking.

 

“What about Castle?” he asked, suddenly thinking of their tormentor.

 

“Dead,” replied Severus bluntly.

 

“Did I-“

 

“No. The blast appears to have knocked him back but he hit his head,” Severus replied.

 

Harry clenched his jaw and his grip on Severus’ hand tightened convulsively. “It was me, then,” he murmured.

 

“No,” Severus replied firmly, “It was not. He was in that clearing of his own devices. It was an accident.”

 

Harry did not reply, feeling a rising tide of self-hatred and bile in his throat. He’d been responsible for death before but he had never truly forgiven himself. Which is why, he supposed, Steven had so easily manipulated him.

 

“He wanted revenge for his father,” Harry said eventually, feeling the need to explain Steven’s actions, “He didn’t know him but his mother told him he had done great things. His dad was Augustus Rookwood.” Severus stiffened but said nothing, allowing Harry to continue. “Rookwood was given the Kiss because I was away on a mission. I tried to stop anyone from that fate if I could. I failed so I suppose-“

 

“I will not hear of any of this being your fault,” Severus interrupted, his voice harsh and sharp. He was clearly going to brook no argument. “Castle’s actions are not your fault. There are any number of people who never know their fathers or who live with abusive fathers or whose fathers die when they are young. Castle sought revenge for a cause he could not fully understand from third-hand accounts and he was mad in the end. The tragedy in this is that Steven Castle wasted his life in a petty revenge attempt when he was clearly talented and bright enough to do much, much more with his life.”

 

Harry allowed this to sink in. The pain and ache of the guilt was still there but he understood what Severus was saying. Steven was very much a victim in this situation as well as being their persecutor. It did not mean he deserved to die but he didn’t have much energy left to argue with Severus.

 

“Granger has come up with a way to report all the events, minus my brewing of the Suggerus Potion, to the Ministry,” said Severus after a few moments, “We should not be pursued for any of this. And though they have requested some tests on your magic, we have agreed that Poppy Pomfrey be the one to do so. She is a skilled Healer and will not test you unfairly. There are still unanswered questions for both of us, as well. And how we take things from here will depend very much on some of the answers.”

 

Harry nodded. He absentmindedly rubbed the bandage on the side that Severus was holding. His mind turned over all the information he had in his head and then his thoughts glanced upon his dreams.

 

He paused, becoming still in his contemplation. He had been sure that his dreams had been the same as his attempted flight through the forest. There had been the nauseating sense of déjà vu as he’d been running. Where did they fit into this? He recalled his previous discussions with Severus, who had been dismissive of the dreams as relating to his depression. But he’d had depressive dreams before and they’d always felt different. Severus was watching him curiously.

 

Harry’s brain hurt.

 

He gave himself a small shake and gave Severus a little smile. It was not the time to bring his dreams up. A family of Weasleys was waiting downstairs for him and he was sure Molly Weasley wouldn’t be able to stem the flood of redheads for much longer. He wasn’t going to waste his last few moments of peace with Severus for who knew how long on discussing his demented psyche.

 

Instead, he leaned forward so that he could feel Severus breath on his lips and whispered, “We’ll work it out. Together.”

 

And he kissed him.


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of months after Harry woke up in the Burrow, he's learning to live with the effects of his recent experiences and contemplates his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here about Harry and Severus is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Ms. Rowling for her wonderful stories about Hogwarts, for without her books, my story would not exist.
> 
>  
> 
> So this is a much shorter chapter; an epilogue rather than anything else, I suppose. I have really enjoyed writing this story and have plans for a sequel.  
> I hope this end does it justice. It's been hard to write which is why the gap has been a bit longer than I normally leave it.  
> Some questions may not be answered but that's why sequels are a thing. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are very, very welcome!  
> Thanks again.  
> C.O.

“Harry?”

 

There was a bird on the windowsill. It was black and its feathers shone like a rainbow in an oil spill in the midwinter sunlight. It looked too beautiful to be real.

 

“Harry? What do you think?”

 

Harry blinked.

 

The bird was gone.

 

Harry shook himself slightly and looked back at the woman sitting across from him. Her pen was poised over a pad of paper on her desk and she was watching him with a slightly exasperated but fond smile.

 

“Hmm?”

 

The woman laughed slightly and put her pen down. “Maybe we should close out for today, Harry? You’ve not heard my last three questions.”

 

“Sure, Dr Adler,” he replied, “Uh, sorry, I got distracted.”

 

Harry gave his psychologist an apologetic grin and rubbed the back of his neck. Hermione had given him Dr Adler’s name and contact details a few months ago, before everything got tangled in the Devil’s Snare that was Steven Castle and his plan. She was a trained Muggle psychologist who came from a Wizarding family but had no magic of her own.

 

Her knowledge of the magical world allowed Harry to be honest with her about the events in his life, about Severus’ job, and about the past few months of mental manipulation he’d experienced without her whipping out the detention forms within the first five minutes.

 

Harry liked her, despite his initial reluctance to meet her. She seemed to be one of those people you just got on with, no matter how different you were. He put her to be in her mid-forties and she dressed smartly but comfortably. She hadn’t blinked an eyelid when Harry told her he’d been in a relationship with a man twenty years his senior.

 

It was their fourth hour-long session and Adler was still trying to probe him for the full details of what happened at the Dursleys’ when he was growing up. They’d stuck mostly to more recent events so far, as per Harry’s willingness to talk. She’d described Harry as a particular challenge for his laconic responses and general discomfort in talking about himself and his feelings. She liked a challenge, she’d said.

 

Their session today, the bits Harry had been cognisant of anyway, had focussed on Steven’s use of the Suggerus Potion and how it had affected him. He’d been able to relay the facts easily enough but any discussion of his emotions and thoughts at the time must have felt like pulling teeth to Adler.

 

Adler started to pack away her notepad and Harry was putting on his jacket when he noticed the bird on the window ledge again.  He frowned at it.

 

“Sorry, um, Dr Adler,” he said, still frowning, “I just…”

 

She paused and looked at him. She didn’t seem at all put out by this change of heart. She watched him with calm, patient, appraising eyes. Harry really did like her but it was times like this he wondered if she couldn’t actually do Legillimency after all.

 

“I was wondering,” Harry said hesitantly, “All the thoughts and images I had and saw, at the time the only indication I had was the buzzing feeling I told you about.”

 

She nodded in encouragement.

 

“But they felt so real. I… I had these dreams and they felt real too. And then it seemed to happen in the forest at the end. It was like I was seeing the future gradually unfold in my dream. I’m… I’m scared,” he admitted softly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor between his trainers, “I’m scared that I’m even more different. That I’m still having the same kind of dreams sometimes. When I think back, I don’t know if I can remember which thoughts are real and which are fiction anymore.”

 

He laughed derisively and rubbed at the healing burns on his right wrist compulsively.

 

“I know it can’t be Steven Castle anymore but that means I must actually be mad,” he said and then snorted, “Or a Seer and I don’t fancy either, thanks.”

 

The office was silent and after some time Harry glanced up at Dr Adler who was watching him but clearly thinking about what he’d told her. She rubbed her lower lip with her thumb as she contemplated him.

 

“Thank you,” she said eventually, “For being honest about your fears, Harry.”

 

Harry blinked furiously and looked at the floor again. Adler’s hand came to rest over his own and he met her gaze.

 

“I’m not an expert in the field but people have reported seeing the future in dreams for many, many years. J. W. Dunne believed that dream precognition was specific to the dreamer. Aristotle believed it to be mostly coincidence when dreams ‘forecasted’ events.”

 

Harry frowned.

 

“I read about it for Divination class,” Harry said, “I didn’t put much stock in dreams actually telling the future before. I might be starting to believe. I just didn’t want it to be me.”

 

“It worries you that you might be different?” she asked.

 

“I’ve always been different,” Harry returned sharply, “I’ve always wanted to be normal.”

 

Adler nodded.

 

“I don’t know much about the potion Mr Castle used when he was manipulating you, except for what information your friend Ms Granger has supplied. It might be worthwhile asking your partner along to discuss this,” Adler suggested gently and squeezed Harry’s hand when his eyes widened in panic, “No need to rush it but it would be useful to meet him in any case.

 

“It might be that the frequent use of the potion with you as the target has opened up a previously unknown part of your mind, giving you access to some precognitive abilities. I think, whatever the issue, it will take us some time to fully realise the extent of the effect the last few months have had and will have on your life, Harry.”

 

She said it apologetically and Harry instinctively wanted to comfort her; to tell her it wasn’t her fault. He was possibly stuck with being able to see the future in his dreams and more for the rest of his life. He might never know if he was seeing something real or projected. It wasn’t the news he’d hoped for.

 

Harry smiled sadly at her and nodded.

 

“Thank you for being honest, Dr Adler,” he said and shook her hand. “I’ll see you next week.”

 

*******

 

The icy January air hit Harry’s face as he stepped out of the Georgian Building that was home to Dr Adler’s clinic. His breath puffed out in front of him and he zipped his jacket up and pulled the collar up to protect his neck.

 

“Forget something?” asked a smooth, deep, drawling voice.

 

Harry turned slightly and grinned. Severus leaned against the railing outside of the building, holding out an emerald green scarf and looking as smug as the kneazle who got the milk.

 

Harry skipped down a couple of steps and grabbed at the scarf in Severus’ outstretched hand but Severus’ snatched it away, holding it out of reach. It had been a Christmas present from the man himself and Harry had only realised he’d forgotten it when he’d already Apparated to the safest point near to Dr Adler’s office. He’d been running late and had no time to go back for it and summoning it from Yorkshire would not have endeared him to the Ministry.  

 

Severus stepped forward and lifted the scarf over Harry’s head, standing close to the other man. They ignored the looks from the Muggles passing by as Severus wrapped the soft wool around Harry’s neck and then kissed his forehead.

 

Harry smiled up at the taller man and reached out to take his hand. “You do look after me,” he said tenderly, “But I thought you were going to be putting the finishing touches to a potion for a while. How come you’re here?”

 

“Your pet would not stop crying at me and then knocked over my final jar of Monkshood, which rather hindered the brewing process,” Severus told him grumpily and then arched an eyebrow, “And I’ll not have you freeze to death when I’ve worked so hard to keep you alive. It would be inconvenient for our plans.”

 

Harry chuckled. Howard the Pygmy Puff had taken to following Severus around whenever Harry wasn’t in the house, generally bringing chaos and causing destruction wherever he could. Severus griped about the small creature constantly, insinuating at least once a week that it would be a shame to ‘accidently’ step on him, but Harry had caught him cuddling up with Howard in their living room the other week whilst he’d been reading a book. He’d wished he could have taken a picture for blackmail purposes but they didn’t own a camera.

 

“I’ll try not to inconvenience you, then,” he joked and raised his face, expectantly, for a kiss. He was indulged under a guise of grudging obligation but they only pulled apart when they heard a wolf-whistle from across the street. Harry grinned and blushed, hiding his face in the lapels of Severus’ winter jacket.

 

“I thought we’d go for lunch after I replenished my stores in Diagon Alley,” Severus said, pulling back and interlacing their fingers. He pulled Harry down onto the pavement and started towards the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. They walked, shoulder-to-shoulder, fingers twined together, and defiant of any stares and whispers they might have drawn.

 

Harry nodded and hummed in agreement. “Sounds nice, and if we get to scandalise a few of the W.A.D.E. idiots along the way I’m up for it,” he said.

 

In the months since their ordeal with Steven Castle, the story had leaked out in bits and pieces, mostly through unofficial channels, until they’d given an exclusive interview in the Quibbler, courtesy of Luna Lovegood and her magnificently indulgent quill. It had reduced the number of enquiring letters and Howlers they’d received, as Luna had them directed to her press office, and the number of reporters hounding them had fallen.

 

The general public had few of the actual details of the occurrences but their relationship and the new control Harry had obtained over his magic were comprehensively construed, allowing them the freedom to roam both Muggle and Wizarding Britain as they saw fit. Severus had convinced Harry to be as open as possible about his magic to reduce the speculation over any missing details and to prevent further testing of his power.

 

Their freedom was tarnished only by the ongoing and unwanted input from the bigoted lobbying group W.A.D.E., which seemed to have set Harry in its sights, and from the Ministry of Magic, which was still under the impression that Harry could be dangerous. Harry had, in turn, made it his own mission to piss them off as much as possible. Severus tacitly agreed to facilitate Harry’s goal as much as possible.

 

“I will see what can be arranged,” Severus said, “I heard a rumour of some joint Ministry/W.A.D.E. conference in Diagon Alley today. How coincidental.”

 

Harry smirked, thinking that, perhaps, Howard had had some help in knocking over the Monkshood jar.

 

He and Severus had undergone hours of questioning with regards to the run-in with Castle and Harry’s mental health and magic when Harry had recovered sufficiently from his physical injuries. The Ministry had made it clear that they were being watched closely, especially after Harry confessed to owning the flat he’d destroyed in Muggle London and because of the explosion at the cottage where Zephyr Proudfoot had apparently lost all his hair and eyebrows during the raid. Severus had smirked for almost an hour when he’d heard about that.

 

So far, they had managed to stay out of trouble. They had just finished refurnishing the cellar and Harry had finally gotten round to returning to Grimmauld Place to try and fix the mess he’d made there, which was slow, delicate work. The London flat was his next project when the Ministry finally signed off the papers on letting him return. He hoped to sell it once he’d finished with it. They didn’t need three homes between them.

 

At Christmas, which was spent at the Burrow with the Weasley clan and a grumpy-looking Severus who refused to wear a cracker hat , Ron joked that he expected the peace to last about two months, which seemed to be Harry’s record for staying out of trouble so far (about as long as the summer holidays at school).

 

The two months was almost up and Harry had a feeling Ron might actually be right. A rumbling disquiet was building in the back of Harry’s mind, mostly surrounding the dreams he’d discussed with Dr Adler. And though he’d gained a new, improved ability to wield his magic, with even finer control than he’d had before, he still struggled with his depression some days and worried that he’d begin to lose control again if he had one too many bad days.

 

Severus squeezed his hand and Harry looked at him. The dark eyes were watching him with questioning concern. Harry realised he’d been frowning and quickly gave Severus a smile and relaxed. Severus smiled back and his eyes grew warm in the way they only did for Harry these days.

 

He pulled Severus closer to him as they reached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

 

Harry would tell Severus about his dreams, he would.  And he’d ask Severus about joining him at Dr Adler’s. They tried to talk more about the important things now. Harry remembered the fraught conversation he’d had with Hermione in the Weasley’s bathroom after the first two months he and Severus had spent together. She’d encouraged him to be more open at the time, to speak about important things rather than just the inconsequential. Now he and Severus spoke about both.

 

Harry was slowly learning to trust Severus more with his fears and anxieties, learning he was not a burden, as he had feared for so long. They talked about the small joys in his life: looking after Teddy, keeping up with Ron over a Firecall, fixing a particularly tricky curse at number 12, waking up with Severus in bed.

 

Severus told him about his potion commissions (which he vetted with extreme care these days) and the books he was reading. They spoke about the fear of rejection and their shared feelings of being unworthy. Severus told Harry, in the quiet moments between waking up and having to get ready for the day, how much he liked their life together.

 

It wasn’t always easy. It definitely wasn’t perfect. But they loved each other.

 

They passed through the pub, drawing the odd glance, but generally without any issue. They didn’t expect the busy shopping street to be quite as easy to traverse, but that was part of the plan, Harry guessed.

 

As the bricks in the lane behind the Leaky Cauldron slid and scraped over one another to reveal Diagon Alley, Harry and Severus’ eyes met. A wicked grin passed over Harry’s face as Severus smirked and raised a mischievous eyebrow.

 

He might be facing a future filled with psychiatry appointments and precognitive abilities and fictional thinking.

 

But he supposed, as they stepped out into the street, he could live with it, knowing that he wouldn’t have to tackle it alone.


End file.
